#beer of bourbon country

[auraeseer]

C'est si bourbon . . .

[sorchathered]

Let’s do IT for our country

Pairing- President!Robert “Bob” Floyd x reader

Warnings- smut smut and more smut, breeding kink, language, mentions of pregnancy, us politics, I think that’s it?

Summary- Robert Floyd had never wanted to be the president, but here in the Oval Office on inauguration night with his First Lady? He could get used to nights like this.

A/N- It’s that time again! Another IBFFM, but this time with an older version of our sexy WSO. Mr. President is about 45 here, his First Lady is in her mid 30’s.

Also it’s @bobgasm ‘s birthday present!! Happy birthday to my precious Steph, love you so much baby!!

For as long as he could remember, Robert Floyd had been told he would be great.

His family name was synonymous with the likes of Kennedy and Roosevelt, the Floyd’s were some of the most influential in political history, and with that came high expectations. You must go to a prestigious college, you must serve your country (whether that be as a civil servant or military member), and you must marry the right kind of person. They talked about it as if they were breeding horses, and it never made any sense to him, so long as he found someone kind and supportive all of the bullshit that his family expected mattered very little to him. He would tick off whatever boxes they wanted, but it would be on his own terms.

He went to the US Naval Academy after high school, refusing to hop onto the Ivy League lifestyle his grandfather so desperately cherished. Moving on to aviation as a WSO and then becoming one of the top 1% in the country in his field. It was a distinguished career to be sure, but he’d been adamant that he had no interest in pursuing a political career, and certainly not the presidency.

He still wasn’t sure what had brought him to this point, or how he’d somehow managed to bag his dream girl in the process. A feisty junior senator from Delaware, good family, strong morals and drop dead gorgeous to boot, you’d been his match in every way. Sure you had hated his guts, he was the golden boy and you had dealt with his kind your whole life. But after a particularly long day in the senate he’d asked you to dinner, and while you’d had half a mind to tell him no the prospect of a free meal wasn’t worth passing up. So in a dingy dive bar with greasy burgers and cheap beer, you took a chance on him and fell ridiculously in love.

Four years had passed since you’d both sat in the creeky wooden booths of that shitty bar, and it felt simultaneously like yesterday and a lifetime ago. His family had pushed him into politics and while he had been adamant in the beginning that he would never pursue the presidency, the world had changed dramatically since he first refused the mantle. He may have hated the pageantry of it all, but at his core he truly did want to help people, and they certainly took notice. He’d run a clean and honest campaign with his best girl by his side, and won in a landslide. Everything moved very quickly from Election Day to Inauguration Day, it almost felt like he had blinked and he was here, wandering the halls of the west wing after skipping out on the last two of 10 gaudy inaugural balls he’d been forced to attend. He’d been going since sunrise and still couldn’t seem to get the jitters under control so he could rest; he suspected it would be quite a while before that feeling went away. Shaky hands moved to open the door to the Oval Office, completely renovated and designed by his beautiful wife to fit his style and personality, you’d made sure he would want for nothing, he’d be spending so much time in this room and it seemed only logical to make it a calm and safe space for him and his thoughts. It felt so much like his office at home, even down to the worn leather chair and the soft scent of sandalwood and tobacco from the candles you bought because it reminded you of him. You had told him you’d be heading to change and wouldn’t be gone long, he had plans to unwind with a bottle of bourbon and maybe a game or three of checkers, but as you slipped into the spacious and hallowed room belonging to the commander in chief, he nearly jolted out of his skin. There you were, his First Lady, in a skimpy little silk robe, intricate updo long gone in favor of soft curls, and the adorable little fuzzy cat slippers that he’d bought you for Christmas.

“Good evening Mr. President” you said with a smirk as you locked the door and padded over to his desk. You’d chosen well, the beautiful mahogany writing table had belonged to Theodore Roosevelt, and while it hadn’t been used in many a president’s term, you had made sure it was painstakingly restored and ready for his first day. Now that you were here, all he could seem to think of is how much fun it might be to test the sturdiness of the surface, perhaps he did need to blow off a little steam after such a stressful day…

“Sweet girl, you do realize there’s cameras everywhere right?” He said as you pushed his chair back just enough to fit between his thighs, very gently sitting on the edge of the antique escritoire. This desk had seen many a scandal, so many historical events, and you were quite sure she should handle the weight of what you had planned next.

“Already got that covered, Phoenix is on surveillance right now, you can go ahead and go dark Nat!” You said in the general direction of where they’d mentioned cameras were placed, a notification on your phone let you know she’d confirmed that the two of you had thirty minutes all to yourselves and you broke out in a blinding grin as you leaned forward to press a kiss to Bob’s jawline. The sharp intake of breath and his hands immediately going to your hips let you know he’d need this just as much as you, it had been embarrassingly long since the two of you had been together, and you filed away the notion that you would need to make sure you had the right security in play to make quickies like this a regular occurrence, policy be damned.

You’d drawn his lips to yours as you untied his tie and began unbuttoning the front of his dress shirt, his hands had drifted to palming your ass as he licked the seam of your mouth, a gasp from you was all he needed to slide his tongue against yours, squeezing you a little more roughly and all but pulling you into the plush office chair.

“Fuck I missed you,” he breathed into your mouth, you’d nearly gotten his dress shirt removed when he slotted his knee between your legs, large hands gripping the back of your thighs as he placed you back on the desk, this time swiping whatever loose papers off the top and sending them cascading across the plush carpet that held the presidential seal. You squealed and giggled, watching with rapt attention as he removed his dress shirt and exposed the defined freckled skin of his arms, pulling his undershirt off with less finesse as it joined the pile of papers on the floor. “I’ve never found a president to be sexy until just this moment, I have to admit, you look damn good in this office, sir” you said as you leaned back on your palms and ogled him, heat crept up his cheeks and chest at your praise, but his eyes had darkened at the honorific, you knew exactly what you were doing to him, and he could feel his dress slacks getting uncomfortably tight as you ran your bare feet up and down the back of his legs.

“You wanna be a good girl for me Madame First Lady? Let me lay you out and devour you where anyone could walk in?” His voice grew impossibly deeper and you let out a whimper in response, shifting to try and get some relief. You did want that, you wanted it so badly you could scream, it was the very thought of being dirty and unladylike for the man you loved that had you so hot and bothered, and he trailed one long finger down your sternum to remove your robe, fire in his eyes as he opened the sash and found you completely bare for him.

“Goddamn it, should have known you’d do this, you know exactly how to wind me up don’t ya? Whole world wants to know how to bring me to my knees and all they’d have to do is weaponize you and this perfect pussy.” He was completely fixated on your arousal glistening between your legs, and while normally you’d let him take his time, you knew it wouldn’t be long before some aid or agent came by to make sure he had everything he needed for the evening. If they only knew.

“Bobby, please? Don’t have a lot of time baby” you said as you squirmed on the polished wood and searched for some kind of relief. He seemed to snap out of his haze as lust clouded eyes fixed on yours, letting his index finger trail down your stomach and through your folds, watching your head fall back and chest heave at his teasing.

“Need to hear you say it sweet girl, you know what I want.” You blushed in earnest, he loved how dirty you could get, but that had always been behind closed doors in the comfort of your own home, you’d be mortified if anyone heard some of the things you’d said in the throes of pleasure; but it was his big day after all. If he wanted it, you’d give him the moon.

“Need your mouth on me Daddy, want you to make me cum and then fuck me with your big dick. Please? Please give it to me, ‘s been too long, fuck - I-“ you babbled at him as he continued to rub that one long finger up and down, it was maddening and had you choking on your words, thankfully he didn’t make you wait, spreading you open and pressing two fingers into you as he leaned forward and wrapped his lips around your clit. The relief was immediate, you moaned out into the empty room as he went to work on your aching pussy, drawing tight circles with this tongue as he scissored his fingers inside you. It had been weeks and he knew he’d need to get you ready, but he couldn’t help but feel like he was going insane over the little noises you made and the iron grip you had on his hair, tugging at his scalp as you bucked up into his pretty face to search for your release.

It was startling how fast he got you there, you were certain you were dripping down onto the desk now, wet smacks and moans coming from between your thighs as you peeked down to look at his deep cerulean eyes. He was too damn good at this and he knew it, had the audacity to wink at you as he nibbled on your clit and with a gasp you came all over his face, watching as he wiped his mouth with his arm and smirking like the cocky bastard he was. He controlled the entire free world now, but he would still consider it his greatest accomplishment that he could render his pretty wife to a babbling needy mess with his tongue. Disheveled looked good on you, blush spread across your cheeks and chest, hair a mess, and your release all over your thighs from what he intended to be one of at least three mind blowing orgasms.

You looped your heavy arms around his neck and kissed him languidly, you didn’t seem to be as worried about the time anymore and for that he was thankful. He wanted to take his time, and if somebody walked in they would find out very quickly to knock, he couldn’t give a shit about anything other than getting his cock inside you.

You knew the rule all too well; no visible marks. It had been that way from the very beginning, which was unfortunate because you wanted so badly to mark his pretty neck up and make sure everyone knew he was yours, but the compromise was that you could leave them anywhere below the collarbone, so as he fished for the condom he’d stashed in his pocket (hoping to end the night just like this), you licked down his neck and began nibbling on the flesh of his pecks, sucking a nipple into your mouth and looking up at him as his jaw went slack. “Oh Christ, you gotta stop that baby or we’ll be finished before we even get started” he panted out and tried not to buck up into you, the hand gripping your thigh was sure to leave a mark but you couldn’t give a shit, there was something so powerful in being able to bring the most powerful man on earth to his knees, and even better knowing that he was insatiable for you.

“Then fuck me Mr. President, and you don’t need that condom either. I think you should put a baby in me, fill me up so good that I’m dripping with you all day tomorrow.” You grinned at him but he looked completely debauched, he ran a hand through his graying sandy locks and blinked down at you, almost at a loss for words.

“You little minx, you’ve been just waiting all day to drop that on me haven’t you? Need me to cum in that pretty pussy and get you good and knocked up? Fuck you’d think it was my birthday or something, I don’t know how I got it so good.” He said as he spread you out and ran his hands all over you, you were whimpering and grinding into him and he was sure he’d pass out if he was any harder, slipping himself out of his briefs and sliding his length through your slick. You were trying hard to be quiet, sure it was late but there was bound to be someone on watch, Bob gripped your chin as he slid into you and kissed you sloppily, all teeth and tongue and moans, shallow thrusts to get you ready turned rough when you sucked his bottom lip and pushed your hips up to take him to the hilt. You gripped the front of the desk behind your head and let him pound you into it, the need for quiet long forgotten as you alternated between crying out and calling him daddy.

It didn’t take him long before he was close, the aftershocks of your second orgasm seemed to keep him gripped so tight that he could barely think straight, he was furiously rubbing your clit to get you there again as he watched tears drip down your flushed cheeks, he’d never forget tonight for the rest of his life. Not all the fanfare, not even the immense weight of the mantle he was about to take, but this moment right here, wrapped up in his gorgeous wife as he fucked her silly in the Oval Office. You wailed out “I’m cumming” as you gripped him tight with your pulsing heat and he tumbled over the edge right along with you, warming you from the inside out as he filled you up.

You cradled his sweaty form in your arms as you both came down from your high, giggles erupting from him as it really set in what you two had done.

“Ah shit, well everyone’s gonna know that we can’t keep our hands to ourselves after this, I imagine the press will have a field day.” He kissed your nose as you grinned at him, both of you still joined together but neither of you ready to separate.

A loud ring came from his phone and it sent a jolt through both of you, wide eyes trained on his as he leaned forward and grabbed it off the hook. His eyes were full of mirth as he nodded his head once, twice and bid them goodnight, pinching your cheek with his free hand before hanging up.

“What was that all about?” You said, trying to push him up so you could get decent and off his desk.

“That was Nat, she said we need to hurry the hell up before me going MIA causes a national emergency.” He was joking of course, but the secret service agents at the door couldn’t look either of you in the eye as you shuffled down the hallway with Bob’s hand in yours, and it was no surprise to anyone when you turned up pregnant by the state of the union.

Tagging- @bobgasm @attapullman @bobfloydsbabe @floydsglasses @sebsxphia @roosterforme @sunsetsimpsblog @seitmai @auroralightsthesky @withahappyrefrain @hangmanapologist

[almostheav4n]

Tomorrow Never Came: Chapter 1

masterlist | ao3

pairing: joel miller x f!reader rating: 18+ warnings: unspecified age gap, hints at past SA, no break-out, no y/n, no reader description, discussion of past trauma, reader develops a reliance on him, hints at a ddlg relationship in terms of a caregiver x little relationship (reader is of legal age), joel is a vietnam war vet with a very tough exterior so it takes a bit to get it moving but it does by chapter 2! <3 word count: 5,495 summary: set in Texas in the 1980s, Joel picks you up on the side of the road when headed west, you embark upon a journey of self-discovery with the help of a seasoned man

“Do you wanna see the west with me? Cause loves out there & I can’t leave it be.”

The cold beer bottle contrasts your harsh, warm, two-handed grip on it as your feet sway from the bar stool sat at. Your cross-country adventure had landed you here, in west Texas, penniless & destitute, nothing but the jacket on your shoulders and the pistol in your pocket. 

You had traveled from west to east in an attempt to meet your father who you later found out wanted nothing to do with you. Having had saved up for years to make the trip, not accounting for how expensive shit was, landed you in the middle of nowhere Texas, trying to make your way back to your home in California. Truth be told, you set your hopes high that maybe your father had just desired to leave your mom and not you but you learned very quickly that wasn’t the case. 

Now you sit, in a dusty dive bar, men circling like vultures as you try hard to ignore their glances and as one next to you, leans into mumble something you can’t make out. Instead you focus on the sounds if Bob Dylans ‘knockin on heaven door’ that plays loudly from the busted jukebox. 

“Wanna dance?” You slur a bit, not necessarily because of the alcohol, but maybe an attempt to match the demeanor of the man next to you, who bought you the beer. He isn’t ugly, he isn’t pretty. He is drunk though, maybe drunk enough that you can slip some bills from his wallet. 

He’s eager you realize as his hand lands on the small of your back, tripping a bit over his feet to make his way to the dusty center, the wood creaking beneath your feet as you place your hands to his chest, slightly propping him up, the bourbon on his breath quite rich. 

Your eyes scan the room to find men and women watching, finding it a bit silly. Being from California, quite used to others dancing like no ones watching. Finding that in Texas, people are always watchers rather than dancers. 

A watcher catches your eyes, his grayish-green eyes narrowed towards you as he brings a glass to his lips, his face mostly shadowed by a brown cowboy hat as he leans against a pillar. 

You can’t help but be a little taken aback, his aura fogging up the space around him like a puff of smoke, as he tilts his head down, focusing on the drink in his hand, scuffing up his boot on the ground before turning his attention back to you. Swiping his tongue against his bottom lip as he adjusts himself, thumbing his belt loop. 

It fills your belly, the admiration, bubbling up into your throat as you smile, a little quirk of the lips as you stare at him, stupidly and obviously. 

He returns the stare. Not smiling back, but the stern gaze worn on his brows replaced by a softer one, more relaxed. 

You're pulled back into reality as the man’s hand slips below your back onto your behind as you sway to the music, causing you to break apart. Whispering nonsense into his ear comprising of ‘if he wants to get out of here’, knowing he’s drunk enough and will most likely barely make it to his car. 

You’re correct as he piles into his truck and falls asleep halfway out of the lot, allowing you to maneuver the vehicle to the side, eventually slipping into his pockets to pull out his wallet and the forty-three dollars.

Ditching him there, you head for a motel and pay them the $30 fee for one night, giving you enough time to bathe and wash your clothes in the bathtub before eating half of a candy bar and heading to bed. 

The nearest grocery store is a bit of a long haul as you walk a few miles until you head into the small mart. Its the size of a shoe box with people littered up and down the aisles as you make your way to the hygiene aisle, slipping a packaged bar of soap into your deep pockets along with tampons. Wandering onto other aisles, sifting through the snacks before landing on a few breakfast bars, deciding to slide one up your sleeve. Your eyes peeking to the side to find that you’re being watched by a familiar set of eyes. 

You slip up the bar into your sleeve before turning to the man you had seen yesterday, his brow raised curiously, having seen your little trick. 

He strikes you once again in a different light… his worn jeans, scuffed boots, his flanneled shirt, the sleeves rolled up exposing his tanned arms, thick veins roped within them leading to his hands, the one specifically carrying a cart with his own personal items. His dark beard ruffles as he bites on his inner cheek, studying you it seems, his eyes roaming around the aisle and then back to you. The same hat worn yesterday, sturdy on his head. 

You hum a bit, leaning back on your heels, not sure whether he means to turn you in or something else. You simply bring your finger to your lips to create a ‘shush’ sound in hopes he will keep your secret before heading for the exit, stopping to pick up a coke, tossing a quarter to the cashier, and promptly exiting. 

Finding a nearby patch of grass, you pass your time by watching the cars and drinking your Coke until it’s empty. You figure now might be the time to make your way from Texas, heading for the busiest road and sticking your thumb out as you follow along the white line on a dirt path. 

Five cars pass before a blue Ford pickup truck pulls up, the gleaming shine causing you to cover your eyes as they adjust, hearing the driver's door open & close. 

You instinctively take a step back, watching a familiar hat make its way from around the truck as you can’t help but break out into a smile. 

“Third times the charm huh?” You laugh a bit watching him remove a hat, letting it fall to the side in his hand as he runs his other hand through his hair. 

“Uh-huh,” He grunts, leaning against the side of the truck, observing you just as he did in the store and in the bar.

“You a cop?” You question, brows scrunching up to match his hardened gaze. The question makes him laugh, a short release of breath before composing himself. 

“Ain’t a cop darlin’…” He mutters, eyes going to your tattered shoes, biting on the inside of his cheek once more, followed by a clicking sound of the mouth.

“Who are ya then?” you place your hands on your hips, attempting to assert any dominance you have, feeling picked apart by his gaze. 

“Didn’t your mama tell you not to talk to strangers?” He inches closer, calculated, stopping far enough from you to bring you ease, his noticeable large size gaining your attention. 

“Tell me your name and you won’t be a stranger… this being our third meeting I find myself quite familiar with you…” You don’t know why your voice catches in your throat as you speak, but you clear it quickly.  

Maybe because he was unlike the men you came across during your journey. Quite honestly, the men you came across reminded you of the boys in high school. Unsure, dull, weak. A boy in the shell of a “man”. 

He wasn’t a boy in the body of a man, just a full man, through & through. 

“Joel.” He offers, his head pointed towards the ground, focused on a trail of ants, then back to you. It’s difficult to hold his gaze without blushing. “Where ya headed?��

“West… California.” You admit, watching as he nods, eyes searching the sky now, observing as he always seems to do. 

“What’s there for you in California?” He questions, eyes coming back to you as you feel your words stuck in your throat, his stare enough to cause your knees to buckle and weaken. It’s a hard gaze, one you hadn’t noticed as clearly beneath the shadow of his cowboy hat.  

“My mama…” you mutter, words coming out hushed, embarrassed, deciding to focus your own attention on the ants, you stupidly feel naked when he looks at you just bare and open.  

You don’t hear him head for the door, only hear the door opening, your eyes shooting up to Joel as he looks at you, bewildered as if you should know what to do, patiently waiting as your eyes swipe back from him to the truck and back to him. 

“Whatre you waitin on? Get in.” He speaks lowly as you attempt not to feel stupid, the blood rushing to your cheeks with a quickness as you bite your lip back.

“Not gonna kill me right?” You ask, stuffing your hands in your pockets watching as he lets out his same light laugh, just a puff of air. 

“I ain’t planning on it, sweetheart.” He bites on his bottom lip, the thick hair on his beard twitching as he waits. 

You hesitantly approach the vehicle, calculated steps leading you around where he stands by the door, sliding into the truck, the leather seating new indicating a certain amount of wealth that puzzles you. 

To be honest, the men who usually attempted to pick you up were composed of overly excited older men with fast food wrappers & cigarette buds piled up in the passenger's seat and the smell of beer wafting from the vehicle. 

It was rare you ever accepted rides from men, usually finding a chick who could take you a few hours down before dropping you off. 

His truck however seemed almost brand new, and clean, even the trash within it, was still kept nicer than most people who offered you a ride. 

The door shuts beside you with a click as he soon piles in, turning the ignition with ease and one hand steering the vehicle back onto the road with one smooth motion. 

It’s a routine, you think as you watch his legs spread apart along the seat, his free hand fumbling with the volume of the radio as he finds a station playing old country which seems to satisfy him as he relaxes into a manspreaded position. 

The motor and the hum of the songs is all you hear about an hour in as you realize he’s quite quiet. Which is rare. 

He hadn’t pestered you about your past, stared longingly at your exposed legs in the summer heat, or even tried to touch you. 

The few times you had gotten rides for men when you were younger and rather dumb, they had talked your ear off about something irrelevant, asked too many questions, or taken the first opportunity to lean over and try to fuck you right in the seat. 

He is quiet. Joel's quiet… hard set gaze focused on the road, the only constant motion being the rise and fall of his chest & occasional repositioning of the wheel.  

He pays you no mind. You would like to assume he’s gay but you don’t think so 100%

“You pick up strays often?” You break the silence, used to being the quiet one. 

He doesn’t answer immediately, only readjusts himself in the seat. You wonder if he is maybe a serial killer. 

The dirt under your fingernails seems interesting all of a sudden as you focus your attention on cleaning them, the awkward energy looming within the truck, 

“Strays…” He responds, finally, rubbing his hand over his beard before scratching at it with a deep sigh. 

“Don’t usually pick up hitch-hikers if’s what you’re askin’” He grumbles lowly, his Texan accent deep and thick. 

You think for a beat, wondering if his natural nature is stoicism and a cold front or if he’s already annoyed by his pestering passenger. 

“Why’d you pick me up then?” You question turning your head towards him, attempting to read him more. 

God, it takes him forever to respond. You aren’t sure if he’s thinking about the question or just in no hurry whatsoever, but it fills you with anxiety and anticipation. 

“Well…  when you stole from Earl, he sorta went around lookin' for you… Then when I saw you stealin' from that shop, I assumed it’d be best to get you to where you need’ta go so trouble doesn’t find you no more.” He admits shooting you a quick look, a quick raise of the brow in a disciplinary way, he means to scold you, you think.  

“Earl?”

“That man you went home with from that bar…”

“Oh… ha! earl,” you snort a bit remembering him. When you stole, you made sure to never stick around for that reason exactly. 

“Well, my thoughts on the matter are men take advantage of drunk women every day, I’m just leveling the playing field.” You respond in a sassy manner, crossing your ankles to sit up straighter, asserting yourself.  

“I ain’t judgin, I just didn’t want to see him comin’ down to find you.. he’s a drunk & a mean one,” He mentions cracking the window, the summer breeze picking up the strands of his dark brown hair & some gray.  

“You know a lot about this, ‘Earl’ ?” You roll down your window then, the wind blowing over your face a familiar and refreshing feeling, picking up your own hair as it tossles over your face. 

“Knew Earl all my life, worked for me…” He grunts, clearing his throat. 

“You hire drunks?” You giggle, feeling like you caught him, disappointed he doesn’t return the laugh as he only shrugs. 

“Like I said… I don’t judge, ‘f the work is done, it's done.” He switches his blinker on before pulling into a lot filled with shops, your eyebrows scrunching as you eye him. Bathroom break maybe. 

“Bout time to eat and get you some new shoes…” He gestures down to your feet as he parks, slightly far from other cars, maneuvering into the spot with ease as the truck comes to a jolt. 

You giggle dumbfoundedly, tickled by the thought that he thinks you walk around in tattered shoes because you choose to. “Joel… I don't have any money.” 

The sound of his door closing acts as a response as it barely grants you a moment to think until your side door is pulled open. “I am well aware of that, cmon now.” 

He’s confusing, his coldness, and lack of conversation, followed by an offering to purchase new shoes. You feel the need to make it clear to him you aren’t a prostitute. 

“I’m not a hooker,” Your nose naturally scrunches in confusion, ready to bolt if he accuses you of wasting his time or something worse. 

He laughs, a true laugh, his shoulders rising and falling as he tips his head down in a chuckle, the top of his cowboy hat revealed to you. 

“I know darling, now don’t rush on my account,” he teases, still propped up against the door, waiting for you, patiently. 

You bite your lip back to distract from your red cheeks. He’s quick to reach his hand out to help you down from the truck as you take it, calloused and warm. 

You don’t desire to let go, trying to remember the feel as he breaks away once you find your footing. 

His long strides are difficult to keep up with you find, his head moving from left to right then left again, surveying the lot for oncoming traffic or anything else that might come at you sideways in a lot, always on alert it seems as he leads you towards a store reading ‘PAYLESS’. 

The door opens with a jingle as he holds it open for you before leading you down the multiple aisles, past the men's section into the womens. 

You collide with his muscled back as he stops abruptly, your eyes narrowing as you back up slightly. 

It takes a few seconds to realize he is waiting for you. Looking down at you, your eyes connecting up to him as blood familiarly rushes into your cheeks, standing closer to him than you ever have been honestly, allowing you to smell his cedarwood aftershave, makes you wanna purr. 

“Well, you have to go select the shoes now don’t you?” He chuckles as he always does, fast and dry but warm as you look down the aisles, scrunching up your nose in confusion. 

“Where you will be?” It’s stupid to already feel a sort of attachment to him, curious about his well-being more for the safety of your own. 

“I’ll be parked right here,” He gestures to a nearby bench seated across a young child screaming and crying as a mother forces on their shoes. 

You only nod back, not trusting your mouth to form appropriate words as he gives you a nice playful push with his elbow passing behind you, gesturing for you to go on. 

He does just what he said he would and you find yourself slivering between row after row of shoes, eventually finding a nice comfortable shoe that doesn’t cost too much, moving to show Joel before being gobsmacked by a pair of leather western boots. 

You decide to pick both, coming to the conclusion that Joel can decide as you walk towards him with one shoe on each foot.

“Okay, okay, ya gotta choose alright?” You position yourself in front of him, finally getting the chance to be above him, feeling a sort of strength and confidence because of it.

His head rises from where it was slouched on his chest, his hat covering most of it until he takes it off with a puzzled look on his face, probably having just napped you think. 

“I gotta choose huh?” He questions slowly in a drawl, snorting a bit as he rubs his nose. 

“Mhm!” You nod turning to the back of the aisle before walking down the carpet as if it’s a catwalk, giving him a little twirl at the end watching as his brows raise in curiosity. 

He responds with a slow clap as you curtsey to finish it off, eyebrows high as they screw together. 

“Well, aren’t you just the bee's knees…” He smirks a bit turning his head to the side, biting the inside of his cheek in long thought as you rock back and forth on your feet in the silence.

“I say get 'em’ both.” He shrugs. 

“Joel…” you pout placing your hands on your hips, “You’re supposed to choose the best one.”

“Go’n and get both, s’ my choice, like you said… toss that pair on your feet and wear one out of the store. Those shoes have seen better days…” He gestures to worn ones nearby with his foot before sucking his bottom lip in, biting down as you scrunch up your face once again, confused by his generosity. 

You open your mouth to speak until you hear his name called, a gentleman his age heading over with a big smile on his face as Joel gets up to greet him shocked it seems by seeing the man. Before he dives into conversation about some time in Arkansas they shared. 

He seems to forget your presence until he fishes in his pocket before turning to you. 

“Check out baby, I’ll be there soon,” He mumbles, handing you his wallet before turning back to converse with the man about god knows what. 

Baby… 

It sits on your tongue as you repeat the word… baby. 

Once you pack up the western boots & toss your ratty pair, curiosity gets the best of you look through his wallet to find a hefty amount of cash along with a few cards, his ID reading ‘JOEL MILLER’. 

You ponder why he trusted you with it, you could bolt, to be quite honest, live off for months with the amount of cash stored. 

You don’t, finding zero need to. 

Eventually, you realize it could be because he trusts you since he’s the furthest from careless. 

It’s a funny feeling, trust, as you make your way to the checkout stand. A boy maybe a bit older than you reading a magazine as you have to muster up a ‘hello’ to gain his attention. 

“Fuh- Sorry, shi-, I mean, sorry I ain’t see you or nothin’” he nervously rambles taking the boxes, one empty but still necessary to scan.  

“Wasn’t ignorin’ you…” He adds as you smile a bit, attempting to ease his nerves. 

You are reminded of how you are able to make boys nervous, having been able to do so since grade school, and not necessarily because you were some Hollywood star, you simply carried yourself with a certain amount of confidence that had boys sputtering and timid. 

It’s refreshing you find after figuring you don't seem to do that to Joel. 

He is never nervous around you, quite the opposite as you feel as if butterflies are swimming in your belly every time he looks at you.  

The boy with a nametag reading, Ted, begins to bag as you slide the total amount on the counter from Joel’s wallet, your pinky hitting a jar of candy on the counter. 

“These free?” You question eyeing a red lollipop. 

“No, um, you can have it, it’s 25 cents, goes to helping out a kid in need,” He fumbles giving you your change as his sweaty hand releases it into yours. 

You return a quarter and fish out your lollipop, discarding the wrapper into your pocket before plucking it into your mouth. 

It isn’t difficult to notice the boys attention on your mouth as your lips wrap around the sucker as you turn your head a bit, sorta wishing it was this easy with Joel. It makes you smile a bit, the idea of getting this reaction from him but the boy thinks it's for him as he smiles back. 

You make sure to wear a look of disgust to dissuade him from thinking it’s for him, lost in your own fantasies as you stick the lollipop far into your cheek. 

“You uh- need help carrying this back, maybe I can help you carry this back to your car?” He offers a little breathless as you pop the sucker from your mouth. 

“Maybe, uh I don’t know where-” You start

“Sorry bout that darlin’,” the gruff voice behind you is followed by the warmth of a hand on your hip as he picks up the bag with the boxes, ignoring the cashier's hand on it. 

“We all square?” He questions looking down at you in a familiar stern manner, maybe questioning the fact that you didn’t steal this time.

“Uh huh,” you nod, “Bought candy too…”

“Oh yeah I can see that-”

You press the lollipop to his lips cutting him off suddenly, expecting to gain some sort of reaction from him finally, but he only opens his mouth to take it in before stuffing it in his cheek, “Delicious… let’s get a move on.” 

A giggle expels from your mouth as you find yourself bewildered as he leads you out of the store before handing the sucker back to you in which you take it swiftly, before waving goodbye to the clerk who wears the strangest expression of confusion, making you laugh even more. 

You expect to head to the truck, and instead follow him towards a sandwich shop as he holds the door open for an elderly woman before letting you pass in. 

“You know what you want? They got hot & cold sandwiches it seems…” He mutters moving up in the line as there’s a good amount of people in front of you. 

“Umm, just a coke…” you hum happily looking at the glass bottled drink behind the counters before hearing Joel sigh out gruffly. 

“Look at me.” He’s stern when he speaks yet soft as he turns towards you, curling over as he closes the space between your bodies. You attempt to make eye contact with his grayish-green eyes, before looking down at your feet, your stomach turning in on itself. 

It isn’t until his fingers move along your jaw to your chin, tugging it up so you can look at him right there, your face resting in the cup of his hand, his hats shadow covering the both of you, making it feel as if you are the only people in the room as a slow gulp glides down your throat, his eyes searching yours as you can feel his breath on your lips. 

“I need you to get real food, you’re gonna get a sandwich. You understand me?” You open your mouth slightly to breathe in his words, stuck in a trance that has you resting your hands on his forearms for balance. 

You wish to speak, to object but only nod as he seems satisfied before breaking away to move up in line with only two people now ahead of you. 

It feels as if your heart is beating through your throat as you expected him to kiss you then, wanted him to. Yearned for it, lips left unsatisfied as you take them between your teeth to gnaw at them. 

He doesn’t even seem bothered in the slightest as he continues to read the menu, distracted as you size him up. 

His tanned arms roped with veins leading down to his hands, his jeans bolted together with a belt as the jeans hang over his boots, the thick beard that holds specks of gray that creep down his throat. His face littered with scars, the most prominent on his nose… he’s truly one of the most beautiful men you’ve ever come across. 

Why didn’t he kiss you… 

Your thoughts are interrupted as the person making the sandwiches asks what you want. You list off an assortment of turkey and cheese and other veggies before turning to Joel, somewhat seeking his approval as he gives you a little nod. 

You slip his wallet into his jeans before heading to find a table in the back, immediately getting side-tracked by a little kiddie ride shaped as a horse, seen through the glass window of the building, fishing into your own pockets to pull out a little ten-cent coin before exiting through the back door. 

It isn’t hard to settle onto it, clearly made for those younger but something fun to do while you wait as it begins to rock you back n forth, popping your forgotten sucker back into your mouth as you move your hips with the ride, it brings you back to a certain comfort forgotten in your childhood as you close your eyes, listening to the carnival music that exudes from the speaker box next to it.  

“What… are you doing?” You're interrupted by a familiar voice as you turn your head to Joel as he stands by the door, propped up, arms folded across his chest in a questioning way, not judging but curious. 

“Ridin’ a pony…” You hum biting into your lollipop, turning back your attention to the machine as it ceases. 

“Seems like you’re done ridin’ a pony, come on in so we can eat.” He huffs out, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead, the summer sun shining down as you remove yourself before heading inside, sliding into a seat across for him, unwrapping your sandwich to find he’s already dug into his own, pastrami it seems. 

Your eyes narrow behind him as you find a group of teen boys, three, eyeing you. 

One spreading his legs open as another makes a gesture to sit on his lap, realizing they had seen you from the glass on the ride, a queasy feeling filling your stomach as you remove your hands from the wrapper placing them in your lap.

It doesn’t take Joel long to notice, his brow raising, chewing on the last bites in his mouth before leaning back in his seat, expecting some sort of reason as to why you haven’t touched your food. 

“Theyre just… starin…” You whisper, hushed, scared to provoke them, avoiding their gaze, and chuckles from behind him. You’re older than them, you know it, but there's more of them, and with men, when there's a will there's a way. 

He’s quick to set his food down, not missing a beat as his head swivels over his shoulder before back to you. 

It’s hard to hide your sickening expression, regretting your choice to reconnect with your inner child, “Can we maybe leave?” 

The stupid tears prick at your eyes as you once more feel dwindled to a piece of meat for the wolves to pick at. 

You don’t expect the reaction, you don’t expect Joel to get up with a loud screech of the chair against the tile that has patrons of the shop turning to see the commotion. His reserved, quiet, & sturdy demeanor, now replaced with a brash, harsh, mighty one as he approaches the table. 

“There a fucking problem?” 

He doesn’t yell… you think it’s scarier that way? His anger low and simmering yet already intimidating, you hope you never see his anger come to a rolling boil. 

The men, younger, stupider, shake their heads, one of them speaking up, “N- no just having fun, just fun…” You don’t hear Joel’s response but watch as the boys scurry out eventually, allowing Joel to return to the table after apologizing to a nearby couple for his language. 

He sits back down, not waiting to take a bite into his sandwich before gesturing to yours as you obey, unwrapping it and digging in to eat in comfortable silence, a strong wave of protection washing over you. An unfamiliar one, one never expressed to you before, it isn’t necessarily the possessive protection from toxic boys in the past, it’s healthy and feels good? 

You don’t notice he’s finished, lost in your own thoughts until you hear his mouth ‘tick’ and then feel his thumb swipe at the corner of your mouth getting at a bit of mustard there before pressing it to his mouth, sucking it off with a quick motion that leaves you biting into your sandwich to subdue the need to press your lips to his, squeezing your thighs together. 

It’s nice just sitting in silence with him, as he sips his beer, and you drink your coke, finishing eventually, keeping the bottle cap.

Eventually, you head back to the truck. 

Truth be told you hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, making it hard to stay awake for the drive, eventually resting your head on the window as you think of telling Joel just that, maybe to show your gratitude. 

Instead, you drift off deciding whether to or not to. 

You don’t notice you’re awake until you collide with a plush mattress, groaning into the comforter as you come to realize you’re in a bed. 

You spring awake, forgetting the day, forgetting where you are, only knowing you are now in a strange bed placed there by a person…

“Easy…” A familiar voice sounds out as you scramble to get up, a warm hand pressing to your chest to ease you back down as you remember, it’s Joel, you’re safe. 

He pulls back the covers as you slip in, expecting to hear him follow in soon, expecting to feel his body heat warm the cold bed.  

Instead, you watch as his figure strides to the door, confusion setting in. 

“Joel… where are you going?” It comes out in a hush, feeling too vulnerable for your own skin, the exterior of hyper-independence you've worn since grade school replaced by an anxious curiosity.  

“Got a room right next door, just holler f’ya need anythin…” He moves to open the door, a gust of warm wind entering as you realize it’s night, a nearby clock reading 8:32 p.m.

You don’t know why you’re frustrated, it’s stupid. Your hands balling up the sheets as you clench onto them, attempting to figure out what it would to get him to stay. 

He’s being respectful you think, but it makes a certain loneliness you are familiar with, creep its way up your spine. You don’t have the guts to ask him to stay. 

“Okay… if some serial killer comes to get me in the middle of the night it's your fault,” is all you can get out, attempting to soothe your own anxiety with jokes. 

You can see him slightly as he exits the door, the soft moonlight reflected upon him in a way that makes your heart flutter, “Not on my watch baby, get some sleep.” 

The door shuts with a hard thud and soon you get up to lock it behind him leaving you wishing he shared the bed with you. 

You drift off that night imagining what it would look like if he did.

[avastrasposts]

Big Sky Country - ch. 6

Chapter 6 is here and since we left Frankie on his way back to the ranch in Montana, and Aisling still in New York, how are they going to work this out after the way they left it?

Summery: Cowboy Frankie returns to New York to work things out with his 'maybe girlfriend' Eva. But he also makes a connection with another woman, who makes this lost cowboy feel welcome in her Brooklyn bar.

Series Master List

Warnings for the whole series can be found here

“You’re the only one who makes my mind as quiet as the prairie.” 

His parting words remained with her but Aisling didn’t expect Frankie to bury himself so deep in her head. Heartbreaks, guys ghosting her, cheating on her, it had all happened before, apparently she had a knack for picking the losers. But it never took her long to get over them, a week or two of being a bit down, nothing a night out with friends couldn’t fix. 

With Frankie, it had been twelve fucking weeks. Three months of her mind drifting to him whenever there was a slow moment at work, getting annoyed when someone sat in ‘his’ spot at the bar, dreaming about him almost every night. 

Jenny noticed and tried pulling her out of it, taking her to their favorite BBQ place, sitting at long trestle tables, laughing at the ridiculous mason jars the drinks were served in. But then Jenny left for the rest room, and Aisling’s eyes drifted to the Texas flag hanging on the wall and then he was back in her head. 

“You could just call him, you know,” Jenny said, sitting down opposite Aisling and handing over another mason jar of lemonade spiked with bourbon, seeing where her friend’s mind was at. 

“Why would I do that? To get fresh material for the delusion living in my head?” Aisling snorted, shaking her head. 

“To get him out of your system, ask him to come back here, or better yet, go see him. You’ve never been out of the city. Go see Montana.” 

“Jenny, now you’re being the delusional one, how would seeing him again get him out of my system?” 

“I just think, the way you talk about him-” 

“I don’t talk about him,” Aisling interrupted, almost slamming her drink down on the table at the very notion. 

“I hate to break it to you, Ash, but you talk about him almost every day,” Jenny raised her eyebrows, daring Aisling to challenge her. “Only last night at the bar, you said Frankie would like that new beer we’re stocking.” 

“That was just an observation, I wasn’t talking about him.” 

“And when we had lunch on Thursday you told me the story about how he delivered a foal all by himself.” 

“There was a nature documentary about wild horses on the tv!” Aisling protested, “It was an interesting story!”

“You’d already told me that story twice,” Jenny said, “And I’ve known you for over twenty years, never, ever, have you talked about horses. I don’t think you’ve ever even been near a horse.” 

“I have,” Aisling objected, “Remember when Jules worked selling tickets for the horse carriages by Central Park? We used to hang out there and bug her the whole summer.” 

“Doesn’t count. And the point stands; you talk about him almost every day, he’s clearly still on your mind and you need to get him out of your system. Or move to Montana. Whichever one seems easiest to you.” 

“Maybe she just needs to get laid? I volunteer.” 

The voice of a man a few years younger came into the conversation as he sat down next to Jenny, grinning at Aisling. 

“Fuck off, Pete,” Aisling snapped, rolling her eyes at the blonde man. 

“Shut up,” Jenny said at the same time, digging her elbow into Pete’s ribs, making him wince, “This is serious, Aisling is going to be pining over this cowboy for the rest of her life if we can’t figure out how she’ll get over him.” 

“I’m not moving to Montana, and I can’t call him, I don’t have his number,” Aisling said and downed the last of her drink, scowling at Pete’s unwelcome addition to the table. 

“You can actually call him,” Jenny replied, fishing a folded piece of paper from her tote bag. “I got it from the trash after you threw it away. Just in case, you know.” 

She smoothed out the paper and pushed it over the table to Aisling, who looked down at it without touching. There, on the wrinkled page from the bar’s notepad, in Frankie’s neat handwriting, his name and number, Francisco Morales. 

Seeing his name, in his writing, suddenly made her throat close up and she blinked a few times. 

“Just call him,” Pete said, “I don’t really want to have sex with you, so calling him is clearly the only option.” 

Aisling rolled her eyes at Jenny who swatted his arm. 

“Fuck off, Pete.” 

Aisling looked down at the paper again and pushed herself to her feet. 

“I’m over him. And I’m not moving to Montana. I’ll just hang out with Ben and Jerry until this blows over, as usual.” 

Jenny sighed, took the paper and folded it up again, leaned over the table and stuffed it into the pocket of Aisling’s jacket. 

“Just in case, if there’s an emergency and you need someone to deliver a foal or something,” she said, giving Aisling another look that meant ‘Don’t you fucking dare throw that piece of paper away’. 

“Fine, whatever, see you tomorrow,” Aisling replied, giving them both a wave as she left the restaurant. 

The piece of paper burnt a hole in her pocket on the way home and she tucked it out of sight between the pages of a book as soon as she could.

Out of sight, out of mind

When the bus dumped him outside the gas station on the outskirts of Big Sky, Frankie drew a deep breath of relief. He never thought he’d feel so light just seeing the prairie in front of him as the bus pulled away. He stood several minutes just staring at the rolling plain and the sky above until the honk of a horn behind him pulled him out of his reverie. 

Herb waved at him from his truck, right on time as usual and Frankie hoisted his bag up on his shoulder and crossed the road. 

“Hey, man, admiring the view?” 

The older man greeted him with a grin as Frankie slid into the passenger side of the truck. 

“Hey, Herb, yeah, good to be back,” he replied, sinking back in the seat and rubbing a hand over his face, “Long fucking journey.”

“How was New York? You were gone a while, wasn’t sure you’d come back.” 

Herb knew most of his history with Eva, Frankie had told him things were over between them when he got back from New York last time. And he was smart enough to guess that Frankie’s sudden departure five weeks earlier had something to do with her too, even though Frankie hadn’t told him exactly why he was leaving. Frankie usually made a point of being as truthful as possible with Herb, but when Eva called, he’d chickened out

Now Frankie sighed as Herb put the truck in drive and pulled out from the gas station. 

“Yeah, I wasn’t sure either,” Frankie replied, “Eva called to tell me she was pregnant, that’s why I Ieft.” 

“Pregnant?” Frankie could see Herb’s eyebrows rise from the corner of his eye, “How did you feel about that?” 

Typical Herb question, always asking how it made him feel. Frankie almost chuckled at the older man but it just came out as a strangled snort and he rubbed a hand over his face again. 

“Scared, hopeful, nervous, petrified,” he shook his head, “fucking terrified. But it’s over, she had an abortion, I’m not gonna be a dad.” 

“That why you came back?” 

“It’s a long story, and it might need a beer or two for the details,” Frankie replied, “but yeah, things got messy, she had the abortion without telling me about it, I got involved with another woman, she found out I had a girlfriend, Eva found out I’d cheated, I stayed to make things right again, but in the end, it wasn’t going to work.” 

Frankie leaned his head against the back of the seat and closed his eyes briefly as Herb turned down the smaller road that led back to the ranch.

“That’s a lot for just five weeks, but tell me about it when you’re ready, Frank,” Herb said, glancing over at the furrow between Frankie’s eyes. 

“I don’t think there’s more to tell,” Frankie shrugged, “New York kicked my ass, and I’m more sure than ever that I can’t live in a big city.” 

“Any regrets?” Herb asked and Frankie knew what he meant, Herb was asking if he’d used any drugs while he was there.

Frankie shook his head, “No, not in that way, I was tempted but I stayed away from it, I know it would only make things worse.” 

“Not in that way?” Herb looked over at Frankie again, “What do you regret?” 

Frankie looked out through the passenger side window and sighed, the memory of Aisling filling his mind. She hadn’t been far from his thoughts much in the past two days, constantly at the forefront of his mind as he debated his decision while stuck on the endless bus ride. 

“That I fucked up, hurt someone else again,” he said, “I should’ve walked away but the need to make myself feel good first…I couldn’t resist.” 

“The other woman?” Herb asked and Frankie nodded, guilt creeping into his chest. 

“She’s…she’s great, fucking amazing…” Frankie shook his head, self-deprecation creeping into his voice, “she works in a bar, I ended up there on my first day back, and she just…fuck…It felt like she saw me but it sounds so pathetic when I say it.” 

“But that’s what it felt like?” Herb recognised the turbulent emotions on the face of the younger man, “like she saw you, and not just some stranger in a bar?” 

“Yeah, like she saw something else than everyone else sees, not the addict or the ex-soldier with a bunch of issues, or the miserable fuck who has to live away from everything to keep his shit together.” 

“Take a step back, Frankie,” Herb said, putting his hand on Frankie’s shoulder and giving it a squeeze to pull him out of the spiral, “Those things are not you, they don’t define you. They are issues you need to deal with, but they are not who you are.”  

Frankie nodded, taking a deep breath, “She made me feel like that, like that stuff doesn’t define me. She didn’t know about it all, I didn’t tell her, but…I don’t know…” Frankie trailed off, trying to figure out how to put into words how someone who didn’t know him, could make his head so peaceful. “She just…made it feel…right?” He shook his head, “I don’t know Herb, I can’t get my head around it, she made me feel peaceful, my head was quiet when I was with her and I craved it.” 

“It must’ve been hard to resist being around her if she had that effect on you, especially in the city,” Herb replied and Frankie nodded. 

“I never should’ve gone back to the bar after the first time, but shit…” Frankie trailed off again and Herb glanced over at him as the truck bounced over the last mile of dirt road up to Frankie’s cabin. He pulled up in front of it and killed the engine. 

“Are you staying in touch with her? The other woman?” he asked, and Frankie shook his head. 

“Na, I fucked up, she doesn’t want anything to do with me. I told her I was leaving though, so that’s it, I’m out of her life.” 

“Take it as a lesson Frankie,” the older man said, putting his hand on his shoulder again, “Take it as a lesson and learn from it, even though you feel like shit about it now. Maybe you’ll find your way back to her some day, or maybe you’ll find someone who makes you feel the same as she did. Either way, when that day comes, make sure you’ve learned from your mistakes and don’t repeat them. Be honest to yourself and to those around you. That's all you can do.” 

Frankie nodded and put his hand over Herb’s on his shoulder, giving it a squeeze, “Thanks man, I needed to hear that. I already know it, but I needed to hear it.”

He pushed the door to the truck open and raised his hand in a wave, “I’ll see you tomorrow, thanks for the ride.” 

“Miranda is cooking you dinner tomorrow, you can’t say no,” Herb grinned and Frankie gave him a quick thumbs up. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, I know she’s fed up with your conversation topics,” He grinned at Herb and closed the truck door. 

Out of sight, out of mind.

That's what she'd thought, but no such luck. It was like knowing that she had a way to contact him made the intrusive thoughts even louder. Not even the loud noise in the bar that evening could drown them out. She sighed loudly as she called dibs on dishwasher duty and took a stack of glasses into the back. The murmur of the guests, the low bass of the music, it was muted back here and she took a moment. Leaning her forehead against the warm metal of the industrial dishwasher hood, she closed her eyes. 

Frankie’s face drifted into her mind and she remembered what he’d said about the noise, how it grated on his ears. She’d never thought about the noise of the city like that before. To her it was just a constant buzz in the background, a comforting hum that let her know that she wasn’t ever truly alone. But Frankie hadn’t felt that, and the way he talked about the quiet of the prairie, of where he lived in Montana, made her long for that kind of silence.

“Makes my mind go quiet and it makes me calm, it’s easier for me to live with myself out there.” 

For the first time she thought she might understand what he meant, she felt like she wanted to sit in a quiet room and just sort through her thoughts, like sorting a bookshelf. What to keep, what to throw out, what should she read next? 

What should her next step be? All she knew was that living with Frankie as a constant distraction in her head wasn’t going to work. 

With a groan she pushed herself upright again and went back to the bar. A woman snapped her fingers at her as soon as she opened the door, snapping and waving for her to come over. 

“Excuse me, miss? Miss?” she called while Aisling made her way over to the table. 

“How can I-” 

Aisling didn’t even get to finish her question before the woman was talking over her. 

“I had this wine, in a bar over on India Street, it was red, from Bulgaria I think, maybe Romania. Do you have anything like that?” 

“No, sorry, we don’t have any wines on the menu. We only have beer, but we have some re-” 

“You don’t have any wine?” The woman interrupted her again and Aisling forced her customer service smile to stay put, her cheeks aching. “What kind of a bar doesn’t serve wine?” She looked over at her laughing friends, rolling her eyes and shaking her head. “You’ve got to have something? Can’t you go to the bodega, or like the bar next door and buy a bottle?” 

“The owner of the bar has decided to specialize in beer only, but we do have some very light, fruity beers that are almost wine-like, if you’d like to try one?” 

The woman pursed her lips and looked like Aisling just deeply offended her, but then she shrugged, waving her hand in Aisling’s direction as she turned back to her friends. 

“Sure, whatever, just get me something to drink.” 

Aisling gritted her teeth into a smile, “Ok then, coming right up,” and turned back to the bar. She grabbed the Belgian beer and sent the runner over to the table with it, before she got back to serving the line of patrons at the bar. 

The bar got louder and rowdier as the evening moved on, and both Jenny and Aisling had to dodge unwelcome advances from tipsy customers. Jenny slapped away the hand of a man who reached across the counter in an attempt to hook a finger into her neckline, shouting abuse at her as he spilled his drink in the process. Aisling stepped in and chewed him out, getting the bouncer to bar him, to loud protests from his equally drunk friends. 

The whole vibe was in itself not unusual, a regular Saturday night, but Aisling felt her patience running thin, impatiently snapping at any man who got too close. The table with the rude woman left and Aisling cursed under her breath when she saw that they’d left no tip, scooping up the exact change from the table. 

The final straw came when she was collecting glasses towards the end of the evening, the bar crowd thinning out as people went home or on to some club. A man stumbled from the rest room as she bent forward over a table to retrieve a glass. As he walked behind her, he grabbed her hips and grinded his groin into her ass, groaning loudly and whooping. She pushed back, making him stumble backwards into the wall, and he cursed loudly as his head made sharp impact with wooden slats. 

“Fucking bitch!” he yelled, grabbing the back of his head, “What the hell is wrong with you?” 

“Keep your fucking hands off me!” Aisling snapped back at him, getting ready to kick him in the balls if he tried advancing on her. The drunk man took one stumbling step forward, rage across his features, but was halted by Mickey, the owner, holding up his hands in front of the man in a placating gesture. 

“Sir, please, the next drink is on the house, I apologize for her behavior,” he said, attempting to usher the man away from Aisling and towards his friends at a nearby table. 

“She fucking assaulted me,” the man protested, “I want her fired.”

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, Mickey!” Aisling spluttered, “He was dry humping my ass and you’re giving him a drink on the house?!”

“Fucking fire the bitch!” the man yelled as Mickey ushered him towards his friends who were waving at him to join them. 

“I’ll talk to her,” Mickey assured him, snapping his fingers at Jenny to bring over another beer. 

“Mickey!” Aisling protested, and he rounded on her, hissing as he got up in her face. 

“It’s part of the job, Aisling, just brush it off. Your attitude is bad enough as it is these days, making a scene isn’t exactly helping your case. Or your tips.” 

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” Aisling blurted, “You’re telling me you’re fine with a guest grabbing my ass and dry humping just so that we can get more tips? Why don’t you just hire a prostitute?!”

“Now, listen, Aisling-” 

“No, you fucking listen!” Aisling snapped, her temper getting the better of her as she felt the injustice of the whole fucking night fuel her rage. “Fuck that guy, and fuck you for taking his side, fuck your bar and your stupid fucking overpriced pretentious beer.”  

Aisling threw the rag she’d been holding on the floor as Jenny stared at her from across the bar, as did pretty much everyone else. But Aisling was too furious to care, and she didn’t even register Mickey yelling at her as she stormed through the back door. Cursing she wiped at the tears that welled up, she hated how she always cried when she got mad, and grabbed her bag and jacket. She was outside in the back alley before she’d even gotten out of her uniform shirt, and with an angry growl she ripped it off, buttons bouncing over the ground. She pulled her own shirt from the bag and yanked it over her head as the back door opened. It was Jenny, her eyes wide as she glanced back over her shoulder. 

“Mickey’s livid, I think he might really fire you this time,” she gasped, “Come back in and apologize, please!” 

“No fucking way, I quit, I’m fucking done,” Aisling replied, tugging her jacket over the t-shirt as she started to walk away down the alley. 

“Aisling!” Jenny called after her, nervously looking between the door to the bar and Aisling’s retreating back. “Aisling! I’ll call you tomorrow! I’ll get him to not fire you, ok?” 

The interior of the cabin smelled stale and musty as Frankie pushed open the door. Leaving it open, he dumped his duffel bag on the nearest chair and went to open the windows and let the clean air inside. The smell of the prairie drifted in on the draft and he inhaled again, it smelled like home in a way he’d never felt anywhere else. A little it reminded him of his childhood back in Texas, but mostly it just reminded him of life here. 

He sank down on the couch and leaned his head back, closing his eyes. He should shower, should heat up a can of something for dinner, but he just needed to relax for a minute. A coyote barked from somewhere outside and Frankie pushed himself off the couch and went to the front door, sinking down on the porch swing. The night in front him was dark but he could make out the shadows as his eyes got used to the faint light. 

The coyote barked again, and Frankie heard the underbrush rustle as a startled rabbit scurried away. He relaxed back against the wooden slats and kicked it into a slow swing. The sky above him was sparkling with stars and out of habit he found the North Star, a constant in the northern hemisphere, it had helped guide him many times. 

The coyote yapped again, closer this time, and Frankie scanned the darkness just out of his field of vision, straining his eyes to spot the glimmer of the animal's eyes. His ears felt unfamiliar with the silence after the weeks in the city, but after a while he could pick up the faint rustle of the wind through the dry grass. A twig snapped nearby and as Frankie looked over, he saw the coyote. It had frozen mid step as it spotted Frankie’s movement, and now the two of them stared at each other across the front yard. 

“Hey there, boy,” Frankie said in a low voice, “what you up too?” 

The coyote blinked as its ears moved forward towards the voice and Frankie chuckled. 

“Are you the welcome wagon? I appreciate you keeping an eye on the place while I was gone, but there’s no food here, boy. Better get a move on or that jackrabbit’s gonna get even further away.” 

The animal regarded Frankie with curiosity for a few more seconds, before a sound behind drew its attention and it turned its head towards the darkness. 

“Go on, boy,” Frankie said, keeping his voice low, and the coyote looked back at him once again, before it turned and disappeared into the night. Frankie watched the spot where it had been swallowed up by the shadows for a while before he got to his feet with a sigh. He felt content. There was a dull ache in him, a hole left by Aisling, shaped by the guilt and regret he felt, but he hoped it would fade over time. He would take Herb’s advice and learn the lesson, make sure he didn’t make the same mistake again. 

Aisling slammed the door to her tiny apartment, reality starting to catch up with her as the rage abated. Sinking down on the bed she dropped her head in her hands, sighing deeply. It wasn’t that she got fired, she could probably convince Mickey to take her back. If not, there were thousands of bars and cafés around Brooklyn, she’d find a new job. 

No, it was the idea of going back to another bartending job, or being a barista, smiling for tips, being polite to rude customers and dodging their advances. She was in her forties, and up until now, her life hadn’t bothered her. She made enough to pay her small bills, buy bodega sandwiches and the odd evening out with friends. It had been enough. Kicking off her shoes, she lay down on the bed and stared at the ceiling. 

It had been enough. Past tense. 

It irked her to admit, but at the root of it, was Frankie. The way he’d talked about his life in Montana, so different to how she lived. How he couldn’t handle the noise and the rush of New York that she just took for granted. He just wanted to go back home to the silence, the big open sky, where his mind could be quiet. And for the first time in her life, she craved the same silence. And she craved him. 

She sat up on the bed, staring at her small bookshelf. She could almost reach it from the bed, the room was that small and suddenly she couldn’t stand it. She took two steps across the floor and pulled out the book, finding his note at once. The handwriting was so neat and precise, it didn’t really say anything about the man who’d jotted it down. As she sat down on the bed again, she smoothed out the paper, ran her hand across his name before she looked around the the room again. 

What do you have to lose apart from time? 

Dignity? 

Girl, what fucking dignity? You’ve just been fired from a dead end job, you live in a derelict Greenpoint relic that’s about to be knocked down, your life fits into two bags, one if you leave the books behind, what the fuck do you have to lose? 

It was no effort to pull her phone from her pocket and look up the bus time table, just looking. Just checking to see what it would cost and how long it would take. She could afford the one way ticket, but not the return. 

Fuck it. 

They had bars in Montana. 

Before she could change her mind, she pulled the duffel bag from under the bed. Her life really did fit into it, but she had to leave almost all the books, only two for the bus fit in the bag. In a final moment of uncertainty, she pocketed the key for her apartment instead of dropping it in the mail slot. Her whole life was packed up and on her shoulder in less than an hour, the thought both made her feel free and miserable. So many years with so little to show for it. But there was nothing to hold her back. One big leap made easier by her small bag, and it made her feel free. 

The window in his bedroom was open when he went to bed a little bit later on the first night back, and he crawled under the covers, feeling his mind starting to churn the second he closed his eyes, the events of the past three days rolling inside him.

Maybe I should’ve tried a little bit harder? What if I’d stayed, got my own place? 

He shook his head even as it lay on the pillow, he knew it was a pipe dream. 

On my own, I would’ve been so fucked. Probably gone back to Eva, or worse. But maybe I should’ve asked for Aisling’s number, or given her mine, just to stay in touch. She must’ve felt the same thing, right? 

He chewed his lip in the darkness, listening to the sounds of the prairie night outside with half an ear. 

She probably didn’t feel the same way, why would she? You’re grasping at the thinnest fucking straws, Morales. She’s not fucked up like you, doesn’t need saving, she’s got her shit together. It was just like a regular hook up to her, she’ll forget you in a week or two. 

He grabbed the pillow and rolled over onto his stomach and buried his face in it as he shook his head. 

Yeah, maybe, but she was still fucking pissed at me three days ago, and it had been what? A month? Would she still be that pissed if it meant nothing to her? Maybe if I give her some time? 

Pendejo, she was pissed because you didn’t tell her you had a fucking girlfriend, any woman would be pissed about that. 

He rolled the thoughts around his head, making lists in his head, pros and cons, feeling like his old army brother Will who always counted things, bullets, kills, days, months, number of times Frankie had fucked up. 

But as his mind drifted back to his trio of close friends he could hear the advice they’d give, and in the darkness, it made him smile as their voices echoed in his head. 

Will, the oldest and definitely the wisest, would cross his arms and give Frankie a thoughtful look, thinking through the options before he answered. 

Herb’s right, Fish. Take it as a lesson for your next step in life. Maybe you’ll see her again, maybe you won’t, but don’t waste this opportunity to learn something about yourself. 

Benny, the younger brother of Will, would shrug as he furrowed his forehead with a sympathetic look that didn’t really mean much, Benny could pull new women every night if he wanted too. 

It sucks, Fish, she sounds special, but I mean…do you really want to be in a relationship now? We should go out sometime and have a bit of fun. You know I’m a great wingman.

Yeah right, Frankie thought, grinning to himself. Going out with Benny to a bar meant Frankie ended up as the wingman instead while every woman in the place made eyes at the muscular blonde guy. No one looked at Frankie when Benny was in the room. 

And then there was Pope, his real brother in everything but blood. The disappointment from him about his many relapses had always been the worst to endure and it had made Frankie withdraw. In hindsight he knew it was all on him, but a piece of him wished Pope had tried harder to stay in touch when Frankie needed him the most. By now, it had been over a year since they last spoke. But Pope would always take one look at Frankie with those sharp eyes and see straight through him. And in this, he would set him straight about what he needed to do. 

Go back, hermano. If she makes you feel like that, go do what it takes to have her in your life. Even if it’s just as a friend. What have you got to lose? Not many good things have happened to you lately, if she’s one of the few, fight for it. 

Frankie sighed, rolling onto his back again, staring at the open window, a few faint stars visible. He’d pulled away from them all, from everyone in the past, in the depth of his addiction and then during his slow road to sobriety. He’d told them he’d moved to Montana only after he’d moved, sending them a text in the group chat about his whereabouts. Benny had given him a thumbs up, Will had replied saying something about whatever he needed. Pope hadn’t even replied. 

Suddenly he missed them, more than he had in a long time, ever since they came back from the doomed mission to Colombia. A mission they had no business being on, a greedy grab for money disguised behind some sort of invented moral about going after a top narco lord. It had been a disaster, leaving them more broken than ever, their team leader dead, and their brotherhood almost torn a part. 

He reached for his phone, finding Pope’s number and quickly, before he could change his mind, he typed a message and hit send. 

Port Authority after midnight was even more of a shitshow than she’d expected, and she quickly made her way through the sparse crowd to the right bus stop. The bus wasn’t due to leave for another forty minutes and she pulled out her phone again, nervously tapping the locked screen. She hadn’t bought a ticket yet, her nerves holding her back. Butterflies, and not the good kind, fluttered in her stomach. Apart from short trips to Long Island, a few weeks living on Staten Island that she’d rather forget about, she’d never left New York. Never left the state, never had the money, or the need too. Now she was facing two days on a bus, leaving everything behind based on a shitty night and a man she hadn’t spoken to in three months. Her lip was chewed raw by the time she unlocked the phone and the bus rolled into the stop.

She stood with the phone in hand, looking at the screen, the small ‘Buy’ button taunting her, even as the driver opened the door and announced the departure. The other passengers began to load their bags into the hold, and still her thumb hovered over the button. 

A high pitched squeak pulled her attention away from the phone and she looked towards the source of the sound, further down the plattform. A fat, well fed New York city rat, was attacking a pigeon, it looked like it’s wing was broken. As Aisling watched, the rat sank its long, yellow teeth into the neck of the bird, and dragged it underneath a dumpster by the wall. She heard another pathetic squawk from the pigeon and then it went quiet. With a shudder she turned back to the phone and hit ‘Buy’. 

Fuck this city. 

Frankie blinked in confusion at the bright sunlight that streamed across his face.

“Jeez…” he muttered to himself as he rubbed a hand over the stubble on his jaw and glanced over at the clock radio on his bedside table. He hadn’t set his alarm and now he was later than he usually would be. His belly growled, reminding him that he’d forgotten to eat last night, and with a yawn, he dragged himself out of bed and into the shower to start the day. 

He ate a can of ravioli from the pan while standing at the stove and poured the black coffee in a travel mug before he headed out the door. After reconnecting the battery the old truck rumbled to life and he gave it a grateful pat. At least some things were always dependable. 

Herb greeted him back at the ranch and then sent him back into the routine of the day without nonsense, telling him to go over the tack of the horses that would be going out on the trail with a group of guests the next day. 

Frankie was met by a sharp whicker as he stepped into the stable, two large heads turned to him as he pulled the door closed. The buckskin horse whickered again, bobbing its head up and down and Frankie chuckled, stepping over to her. 

“Hey, Dolly, my girl. Did you miss me?” he muttered, scratching her forelock as she nudged his arm for treats, nuzzling close to his shoulder. Frankie rested his head against hers and inhaled the familiar smell of her coat as she affectionately nipped at his shirt. 

“Sorry I left without saying goodbye,” he said, “but I’m back now, and I think I’ll stay. Gonna take you out later today, you can make sure I can’t walk tomorrow, my butt’s gonna be so sore.” 

He chuckled at his own joke as Dolly gave a low whicker, her soft nose bumping his pocket. 

“Sorry, I forgot to bring something, I’ll make it up to you later.” 

She gave him a snort but seemed to forgive him as he continued to scratch her mane. After a few minutes he gave her a final pat and went over to the tack room, giving the other horse a pat too. His phone started ringing as he opened the door to the tack room and Pope’s name flashed across the screen. His thumb hovered over the green button for a few seconds before he drew a deep breath and hit it. 

“Hey Pope, it’s been a while,” he said in greeting, dropping his eyes to his boots without even realizing, as if Pope was standing in front of him with those sharp eyes. 

“It has, but it’s good to hear from you, Fish,” came the voice of his oldest friend on the other end, “You still in Montana?” 

“Yeah, but I just got back from New York, long story,” Frankie replied, “All good with you, hermano?” Calling Pope brother was almost a code between them, a word only used when it meant something, when it was time to listen. The word a special signal between just the two of them, brothers in all but blood. 

Frankie could hear Pope’s smile through the phone, a low chuckle almost in relief, “I’m good, hermano. Still in Florida, still with Linda.” Pope had started dating her back when Frankie had been deep in his addiction, and he’d only met her twice, neither time a very good memory. But from what he’d heard from Benny, she made Pope happy and they were good together. 

“That’s great, man, I’m happy for you, I…I know I didn’t make the best impression on her, but she seemed great for you.” 

“She is, and I’m…” Pope trailed off for a few seconds as Frankie heard the sound of someone moving on the other end, a low ‘bye, love you’ from Pope, and a door closing. “Sorry, she’s just off to work, yeah, she’s amazing, I’m really happy, found some peace, you know?” 

Frankie shuffled his boots on the rough concrete floor of the tack room and leaned against the workbench, a sudden spout of jealousy tightening his throat. 

“Yeah, I know, I’m happy for you, really, man. It’s great to hear that you found it.” 

“What about you, Fish? You still clean, doing ok out there in cowboy country?” 

Frankie could hear the smirk and the exaggerated twang in Pope’s voice and he chuckled. 

“Yeah, I’m good, still clean, still working the ranch, but…uhm...Eva and I broke up. She moved to New York a while back.” 

“Shit, sorry to hear that,” Pope replied, “But I…” 

“Listen, man,” Frankie interrupted Pope, he didn’t want to go into the whole business with Eva over the phone, and he could hear his friend gearing up for a longer conversation, “I was thinking last night. I know I’ve been shit at staying in touch, but I want to change that. I’m not coming back to Florida any time soon, but maybe you and the Millers could come out here? I wanna show you guys my life out here.” 

“Frankie,” Pope smiled down the phone, “I’d fucking love that, and you know the Miller’s won’t say no to some ranching. Let me talk to them, we’ll find some dates that work and let you know.” 

“Awesome, man, it’ll be good, I’ll make sure Herb books you into one of the nice cabins.” 

“And get me a horse that won’t buck me off,” Pope laughed at the other end and Frankie grinned. 

“I’m not promising anything, might put you on the mule.” 

“Fuck off,” came the instant reply. 

“You’ll love the mule, Pope,” Frankie laughed before he glanced over at the saddles waiting for him, “Listen, I’ve got to get back to work, we’ve got guests coming tomorrow,” 

“Alright, hermano, we’ll see you soon, ok?”

“Yeah, see you soon, hermano.” 

Frankie felt the smile stretching his face as he hung up the phone, he felt lighter already. Guilt and shame had kept him away from his old friends, and reconnecting might not be easy. But this was a small step towards it and he needed to move forward. Put Eva and New York behind him, get over Aisling, learn from his mistake and rectify those he could. With a deep exhale, he hoisted the first saddle off its perch on the wall. 

The Greyhound bus rumbled away down the pin straight highway, heading west, towards the darkening mountain range. The sun slowly sunk behind the highest peaks, soon their shadows would touch her feet. Looking back, east, towards a past she’s left on a whim, she sighed and let her eyes drift up to the indigo sky. Big sky country indeed. 

So alien to her eyes, so open to someone used to living their life surrounded by tall buildings, busy people, small trees in small parks. 

Here, the open prairie gave speed to the cold wind hurtling down from the mountain range, whipping dirt from the road, tugged at her loose hair. She briefly closed her eyes against the particles of dust, inhaled deeply, tasting it on her tongue, dry grass in the air, a hint of snow from the mountains. No way back now, the bus too far away to stop. Only her duffel bag and a phone number, hoping he’d pick up and let her in. 

Aisling turned around and crossed the road, the bright lights of the gas station at the edge of town spilling across the dusty asphalt. She pushed open the door and nodded to the clerk behind the counter, dropping her bag by one of the small tables next to the coffee machine. His number was already in her phone, but she hadn’t had the courage to call him yet. But now she was here, and he was only a short car ride away. 

She closed her eyes, sending up a silent prayer, and tapped Frankie���s name on the screen, pressing the phone to her ear as it rang. 

Chapter 7

A/N: So Aisling finally got herself out to Montana on a bit of a whim, spur of the moment decision. But how is Frankie going to react when she suddenly turns up on his doorstep?

tag list: @harriedandharassed @inept-the-magnificent @sheepdogchick3  @readingiskeepingmegoing @noisynightmarepoetry @survivingandenduring @vabeachazn @amyispxnk @oberynslady @amyispxnk @thewiigers  @lady-bess @missladym1981 @peppermintfury @typewriter83 @anoverwhelmingdin @vabeachazn

[ragingbookdragon]

And I'll Be An Old Troubadour, When I'm Gone

Simon "Ghost" Riley x Reader

Word Count: 1K Warnings: None

Author's Note: Dis my favorite GS song <3 fits my OC perfectly <3 -Thorne

**********************************************************************

Ghost doesn’t typically get out of the country if he can help it when he’s on leave. Rarely does he even get to Scotland to see Soap’s family. That’s about it, but somehow, Troubadour convinces him to fly out to the States and down south to see him for the month they’ve been given. It does take quite a bit of convincing, and even a great home cooked dinner and somehow wining and dining Ghost’s pants off, but he does.

Troubadour has a fun time showing him around the town he grew up in, and even takes him to the high school he played football in. He grins widely as he sees his trophy in the case and a cheering team photo behind it. He tells him stories about getting drunk by a bonfire and almost burning all the little hair he had on his chest when he decided to jump over it and almost fell face first instead. Tells him about how he managed to whoop a rival school’s tail in a street fight in a parking lot when he was a senior. Talks on and on about how he used to spend every summer on a tube floating down the river with a fishing pole in one hand, a beer in the other, and a can of bait between his knees. Ghost’s eyes don’t give it away, but his smile is evident beneath the black face mask he wears around the town.

He drives Ghost around town, takes him to the local diner and shows him what a real country fried steak tastes like, and by the time they’re done with apple pie and coffee, Ghost is literally bursting at the seams and ready to fall over in the booth while Troubadour laughs at him. He looks good when he laughs. Like he isn’t trying to look out for everyone like Price always is. Troubadour’s good like that; the big brother they never had, the one they can go to for anything, no matter how foolish or big. He sometimes thinks Troubadour should retire and do something better with his life. Something less risky. But he knows that Troubadour is a good man, wants to do the right thing, even if he gets his hands dirty. He wants to make a difference. Wants to be the man he deserved to look up to as a young man instead of the shit father he did have. Sometimes Ghost wishes he could be a good man like Troubadour.

Troubadour tells him the cabin he’s rented is about two and a half hours out of the town and Ghost settles into the passenger seat of the 2021 Dodge RAM 1500, comfortable and content to close his eyes for a couple hours. He watches the end of the sun fall behind the mountains and watches the stars come out above the truck. So deep in his own mind that he doesn’t realize Troubadour’s hand is on his thigh until he feels his lover’s fingers gently pressing and thumbing against the roughness of his jeans. Troubadour likes to touch. He’s always holding Ghost’s hand, his thigh, his chin on the soldier’s shoulder, toes brushing his calf under the covers.

He looks over inconspicuously, taking in the side profile of the man he’s come to love so deeply, of something that came from such an admiration and respect. Ghost often wonders if Simon Riley would be the man Troubadour was if he hadn’t let his past warp him so greatly. The man’s hands are strong, firm, steady, the wheel gripped in one as he silently and masterfully turns the wheel around a winding curve when the radio plays the next song and he sees the corner of Troubadour’s mouth turn up and he starts to hum the cords of the beginning, and Ghost is almost shocked at the smooth voice that comes out of the man, like bourbon running in his veins as he sings.

Sometimes I feel like Jesse James, still tryin’ to make a name. Knowing nothing’s gonna change what I am. I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song. I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

It makes something in Simon’s chest tighten painfully. Their lives are lived in an hourglass that’s running out of sand fast. Every moment is never guaranteed, no tomorrow ever promised, but the longer he spends with Troubadour, the more he hears the life he wants to be living instead. He wants to wake up at five AM for god knows whatever reason, and sit on the porch in matching rocking chairs drinking their coffee. He wants to sit on the back porch in the swing and drink bourbon as they watch the fireflies in the summer and talk about the change in football and wonder if the season will be better than last year’s. He wants to spend every Sunday going to a café where they complain about the same breakfast they always get but still eat it and can’t wait for the next time. He wants to sit on the steps of their home in the early winter months, and watch Troubadour chop wood and bitch that he could chip in instead of ogling him like a pervert but still take his sweaty shirt off anyway.

Simon begins to admit the one thing he’s always been afraid of, and that’s the fact that he actually wants to live long enough to die an old man next to the old man he’s come to love.

He doesn’t even realize his eyes have begun to sting until he blinks rapidly and takes a deep breath, looking over at Troubadour as the man simply sings away without a care in the world other than the fact one of his biggest bragging rights is, “George Strait wrote a song about me. I mean, it’s obviously about me.”

Simon feels the world collide with everything he’s ever felt and known when Troubadour looks over as if called out to him and gives him a pearly white smile.

I was a young troubadour, when I rode in on a song, and I’ll be an old troubadour when I’m gone.

Troubadour picks up his hand, kisses the back of Simon’s, an ever-present and firm promise to love him for all he’s worth for as long as he has and even into the next life and all eternity.

I’ll be an old troubadour, when I’m gone.

[tjisntnice]

I fuck myself over (and over)

chapter one - 1960

drug injections, heavy referenced underage sex

1960

The bonfire was big and bright, The Will Rogers football team all sitting around it. Nine players, one captain, and four girlfriends. fourteen kids getting drunk off of cheap bourbon celebrating their latest win. 

Ten wild, hyper teenage boys passing a half empty bottle of Jack Daniels around the circle, most of which trying to convince their captain to chug the rest of the bottle for scoring the winning goal. 

“Come on man! you're the only reason we won.’’ One of the boys yelled.

Darry laughed, taking the bottle and tipping it upside down, effectively chugging it down. Paul was grinning, already pretty tipsy. Tossing the now empty bottle towards the fire, Darry leaned on Paul as he allowed the alcohol to take effect. Paul took the blunt being passed around, taking a hit. He leaned down, grabbing the side of Darry’s face and tapping his bottom lip. 

Darry opened his mouth, closing his eyes as Paul blew the smoke in his mouth. Breathing in, Darry smiled as Paul discreetly pressed a kiss to the side of his mouth.  

“Y'all keep this up and people gonna start assuming y'all a bunch of fairies.” One of the boys said. Paul rolled his eyes and sat back up, nudging Darry to do the same. 

–

After the party, both boys were as drunk as hell. Stumbling down the sidewalk, Darry held onto Paul's arm, leaning most of his weight on him. 

“Come on, we’ll go to Hudson's house.” Darry said, pulling on Paul's arm. Paul rolled his eyes. Hudson was Darry’s drug dealer, but Paul didn’t trust him one bit. When they go over to get the month's supplies, Hudson takes Darry into the guest room and when they come out Darry’s lips are red and he’s clearly high as hell. Then Paul walks Darry back to Paul's own home and lets him sleep it off. 

It was clear tonight was going to be no different. They clumsily climbed the stairs of the small house. The house is on Greenwood street, A white brick house with a nice garden. A clear Soc house on the outside. However, due to the many Greaser and Soc druggies alike staying in the house, the inside was a wreck. The wallpaper was peeling, it smelt like puke and pot, and Paul was pretty sure the stains on the old couch weren't beer.

Hudson was a brunette with brown eyes and a charming smile. He can talk himself out of trouble better than anyone Paul knows and he sure does get into trouble a lot. He calls Darry “darling” in a strong country accent. A Lot of people liked him, but he wasn’t a people person. 

Darry knocked on the door in the specific pattern, (Two slow knocks and 3 fast paced) and he turned to Paul giggling. Hudson answered the door with his signature grin, scanning over both boys and eyes landing on Darry in one quick motion. 

“Well darling, what’ve you gotten yourself into?” He asked, reaching out to pull Darry’s weight onto himself. Paul dropped his arms and sighed in relief. Darry looked at Hudson with a grin on his face and tucked his face into his neck. 

Hudson turned his attention to Paul, raising an eyebrow. 

“You both drunk as hell, ain’t ya?” He asked. Paul tipped his head to the side, the action causing a wave of nausea to go through him. Groaning, he dropped to the side of the porch and threw up. Hudson shook his head while Darry started laughing. 

“Come on in when you’re done.” Hudson said, nudging Paul's side with his foot. Paul gave a thumbs up before gagging again. 

Chuckling, Hudson guided Darry inside and disposed of him on the couch. Walking towards the guest bedroom, he grabbed one of the small bags with the heroin and needle from the closet before making his way back to the living room. When Hudson undid his belt, Darry whined and turned his head away. Grinning Hudson pulled his belt loose and crouched down next to Darry. 

“Not right now darlin’, your friend is outside.” Hudson said while running a hand through Darry’s hair. Grabbing Darrys arm, Hudson wrapped the belt around it and tightened it up just above Darry’s elbow. Dropping his arm, Hudson grabbed the small bottle of heroin and filled the syringe up. Glancing at the door, Hudson filled it up a bit more than normal before taking the needle and pushing it into Darry’s arm. Darry hummed, burying his face into the couch. Once the syringe was empty, Hudson took it out and put it on the table, leaning down to kiss the small droplet of blood away. 

Paul walked in then, making a beeline for the kitchen for a glass of water. Making his way around easily, having done this hundreds of times, Paul quickly washed his mouth out and grabbed a beer from the fridge. Putting a dollar in the jar on the counter, Paul walked out and into the living room.

Darry was smiling, blinking tiredly at Hudson. The man in question was stroking Darry's hair, pushing any stray locks out of his face. Paul scoffed, rolling his eyes as he lifted Darrys feet up to sit next to him. Hudson turned his attention to him. 

“What y'all doing tomorrow?” He asked.

“Not sure, why?” Paul responded. They normally do all sorts of different things on Saturdays. 

“I was thinking about heading to the lake” Hudson explained, a grin forming. 

“Yeah!” Darry exclaimed excitedly, trying to push himself up with his arm. Paul smiled fondly at his boyfriend, moving his free hand to rub his arm. 

Hudson was one of the few people who knew about Darry and Paul, and the only person who they felt comfortable around to actually show PDA. 

“Guess we could see.” Paul said, already knowing they’d most likely join. 

Darry had closed his eyes, and Paul put his beer down in favor of getting up to call Darry’s parents. Making his way to the phone, Paul dialed Curtis's number by heart. He felt kinda bad, it being 10pm and them having two other kids to look after, but they should be used to it by now. 

“Hello?” Mr. Curtis’s voice came.

“Hi Mr Curtis, this is Paul. I’m calling to let you know Darry will be staying with me.” Paul answered. He didn’t mention how they were at a well known drug dealer's house.

“Yeah, we figured. You boys have a good night.” Darrell tiredly replied. 

“You too.” Paul said before he hung up the phone. Sighing, he sat back down on the couch and downed the rest of his beer.

Darry soon fell asleep, and Hudson went to his own bedroom. Paul was watching TV, absentmindedly rubbing Darrys leg. He fell asleep soon after. 

–

In the morning, Paul woke up to the sound of the front door slamming shut. He was confused at first, still thinking he was at his own house, but remembered quickly. Darry was still sleeping beside him and Hudson was sitting in an armchair talking to the Greaser that just walked in. 

Paul watched tiredly as Hudson laughed at something the other guy said, he was in his late 20s but looked older than 30. Hudson gave the guy a bag of white powder and got a few 5s in return. The man tipped his head at Hudson and walked out. 

Paul heard Darry stir beside him, and Hudson turned his attention towards them. Suddenly Paul was hit the realization that he had a 

pounding headache, causing him to groan and cradle his head in his hands. He heard Hudson laugh at him, making Darry hum and sit up. Paul blushed at the fact that Darry was now in his lap, and Hudson stood up. 

“Y'all want some Advil?” He asked. 

“Please.” Paul replied. He heard Darry laugh at him before he ran his hands through Paul's blond hair. Paul sighed as Darry started massaging his scalp before his hands were lodged away. Paul looked up, reaching out for the promised Advil. Taking them dry, he watched as Darry did the same. 

“You still owe me for the dose last night.” Hudson interrupted. Darry looked at him, huffing and climbing off of Paul. Pressing a kiss to the top of the boy's head, Darry walked off with Hudson. Paul sighed, leaning back into the couch. 

–

A few months ago, Hudson had made Darry a deal. Every month, Hudson would supply Darry with enough dope for the month, no more and no less. And instead of paying Hudson with money that Darry doesn’t have, Hudson takes Darry to the guest room and has him pay on his knees. The rule was no fucking, and normally Hudson was pretty good at following that rule. 

Hudson groaned as he finished, causing Darry to gag. Darry leaned over to spit out Hudson’s cum, causing Hudson to laugh at him.

“Come on Darlin’, you should be used to this.” Hudson said, nudging the boy with his foot. 

“I don’t understand why you can’t get some broad to do this. I got the money.” Darry complained, wiping his mouth. 

“No you don’t,” Hudson replied, pulling Darry up by his arm. Darry scoffed.

“Come on. We’re going to the lake today.”

[acommonloon]

Except for a few white knuckle moments on our stormy drive home, Saturday’s adventure ended with Ethereal Brewing located in the old James E. Pepper Distillery where I had one beer. Weather was predicted.

The atmosphere here is one of my favorites and the beer is always interesting with old ales, barrel aged beers, and European styles on offer. I especially appreciated the Progress Pride flag.

On the drive down we stopped at DQ for biscuits and gravy. A black woman was the only person working front of house. I thought she was early thirties, for sure she was a pro at this. On the side opposite where we sat was a group of old white men, several sporting MAGA hats.

I watched her carry food over to the mildly boisterous group a few times. The interaction seemed familiar and friendly. “Must be regulars I mentioned to D.”

As we got up to leave, I suggested I’d shout “Go Kamala!” As we passed them.

“Better not.” D replied. (I didn’t)

Sitting at the bar, I recalled a post, I’d read before leaving that morning, by Penzy’s Spices called “About Republicans”. A declaration right on their website and at a cost.

We’d got up early to go stand in line at Buffalo Trace in Frankfort to hopefully get a couple of bottles of Blantons bourbon. It’s one of my favorites and I especially like to give it as gifts. It’s allocated, meaning retail liquor stores get very little of it so they put it behind the counter and mark it up at huge margins. It retails for $69.99 but I mostly see it for $110-$180 locally, when I see it at all.

People travel from far and wide to visit Buffalo Trace and the many other distilleries in this part of Kentucky. It’s become a tourist destination for those who make drinking bourbon a hobby. According to the man controlling the front of the line, last year they had visitors from all 50 states and 32 countries.

When we arrived at the parking lot, staff members with Hi-Vis vests on, directed us to park. We were about 30mins before they opened but there was already 3 and a half snakes. Yes - snakes. There is a FB site devoted to tracking the bourbon availability there each day as well as how many people are lining up, with a line being a snake. It’s all very organized. Long lines painted on the asphalt define how to que up like at the airport. Unlike the airport, there’s no sense of desperation so no physical barriers are needed. There were dogs and kids in line. The people in front of us were from North Carolina and they had one of each.

What I realized, sitting at the bar was, there weren’t any black people in that line at Buffalo Trace. Ahem, none I noticed. There also weren’t any black people at our next stop, West Sixth Brewing either. There were a few black people at our next stop, the large art fair held in the park. A few exhibitors and a few walking about like us. <sigh> This is far from the first time I’ve noticed the places I choose to spend my time and money are mostly all white affairs.

What’s my point? Let’s elect a black woman to president. Let it be a step towards outlasting the racist homophobic anti other segment of our society. Let them die in fear as they’ve chosen to live. Let’s stand in lines of color.

[jungleindierock]

Time Machine - 2024 - No. 1

First in the new Time Machine Playlists for 2024, they will appear once i have 40 songs in each one. Mixed genres of music, from 1950-2022. Already begun No. 2 so could out soon. Enjoy it and share it, might find some bands/artists you like and want to explore their back catalogues!!

I feel 40 is good number of tracks not too long or too short in listening time for your enjoyment. The whole playlist is only two hours and thirty three minutes long.

Reb

Tracklist

Elbow - One Day Like This

The Box Tops - The Letter

Johnny Cash - Hurt

Junior Murvin - Police & Thieves

Frank Wilson - Do I Love You (Indeed I Do)

David Bowie - Rebel Rebel

Spear Of Destiny - Liberator

The The - The Beat(en) Genration

Kings Of Leon - Talihina Sky

Public Image Ltd. - This Is Not A Love Song

Nick Drake - Pink Moon

Imelda May - Johnny Got A Boom Boom

New Order - Ceremony

John Foxx - Underpass

Dandy Livingstone - Suzanne Beware Of The Devil

The National - England

Warpaint - Undertow

The Temper Trap - Science Of Fear

Major Lance - Ain't No Soul (In These Old Shoes)

The Farm - No Man's Land (John Peel BBC Radio Session)

999 - Feelin' Alright With The Crew

Bob Dylan - Blowin' In The wind

Rage Against The Machine - Guerrilla Radio

The Colorblind James Experience - Considering A Move To Memphis

Easterhouse - Whistling In The Dark

The Stone Roses - I Am The Resurrection

Peter Tosh - Vampire

The Vaselines - Jesus Wants Me For A Sunbeam

John Lee Hooker - One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer

Beck - Beercan

Toots & the Maytals - Take Me Home, Country Roads

The Pop Group - She Is Beyond Good & Evil

The Unthanks - A Great Northern River

The Cure - 100 Years

Stereophonics - A Thousnad Trees

Big Mama Thorton - Hound Dog

Tom Waits - Rain Dogs

The Pogues - Wild Cats Of Kilkenny

The Detroit Cobras - Leave My kitten Alone

Super Furry Animals - Golden Retriever

[oncasette]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊 𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐔…

✷ my mood themed spotify playlists

ABSINTHE. dad rock $15.63

ARNOLD PALMER. lost & drunk on the beach $1.20

BLACK COFFEE. he’s an older man $40.50

BOURBON TOSCANO. smoky $5.21

BUBBLEGUM SODA. girly bubblegum pop $0.56

BUBBLY. songs that buzz $24.70

CEREAL MILK. just a girl in a coming of age film $7.13

CHARTREUSE & BENEDICTINE. sex $69.69

COMMUNAL WINE. choirs $0.99

CLEAR SALINE. grief $0.98

CRYSTAL PEPSI. live life like it’s an 80s movie $1.23

EXTRA DIRTY MARTINI. sophisi-pop $27.00

EGGNOG. christmas beats $13.12

GINGER SHOT. in love with a women in the 70s $8.08

GINGER TEA. lo-fi & movie quotes $7.21

HOT CHOCOLATE. warm $5.00

JELL-O SHOTS. the era, the icon, the 2000s $13.31

LAVENDER LEMONADE. vintage love songs $0.99

LONG ISLAND ICED TEA. dancing w/out a man $42.37

MEAD. living in the mud $0.00

MILLER LITE. generic beer & truck country $21.00

MONSTER ENERGY. emo $15.21

MOONSHINE. country love songs $20.59

NEW COKE. my 2018 editing 80s era $1.99

A NICE CHIANTI. stuck in a horror movie $19.88

OLD FASHIONED. slow dancing to vinyl $19.54

ORANGE JUICE. lost love $14.70

PEACH TEA. country for the plains $19.90

RED RED WINE. classic rock n roll $54.32

RED WINE SUPERNOVA. wlw $4.39

SALT WATER. cry your eyes out $0.15

SANGRIA. that woman’s the devil $10.55

SPARKLING APPLE CIDER. pretty princess $25.55

STRAWBERRY DAQUIRI. feminine felonies $12.30

SUNKIST. to be alive $0.20

SUNNY-D. growing up $1.49

TAP WATER. sad, but a bit drowsier $0.00

TWISTED TEA. summertime $20.99

VODKA REDBULL. 2000s tramp anthems $14.35

WATERMELON MARGARITA. hot girl shit $14.29

[auraeseer]

Burb on bare all . . .

[ladylilithprime]

Not So Silent Night

Event: Secret Santa Exchange via @spnfanficpond

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Wincest

Rating: Teen and Up

Tags/Warnings: Alcohol Use, Dean's Pining, Sam's Awkward Flirting

Summary: The hunt was a bust and Dean just wanted to kick back and a bar and pretend he wasn't missing his little brother like one half his lungs. Turns out the bar he picked was a better choice than he'd thought.

Gifted to: @a-nah

Read on AO3

THE BLUE FLANNEL shirt had stopped smelling like Sam three months ago, but Dean still wore it over his t-shirt and beneath his dad's old leather jacket like he could duck his head and catch a whiff of sweat and deodorant and cheap aftershave. He knew that if he did he'd still get a whiff of the deodorant and aftershave from his own morning routine, but despite being the same set of scents it still hit... differently. Different notes in the sweat from Dean's devotion to bacon cheeseburgers versus Sam's burgeoning preference for eating raw vegetables.

Freak. At least Dean could be sure with his thoroughly cooked meat that he wasn't gonna spend the night blowing chunks from food poisoning because of the questionably clean lettuce.

He didn't even know why he was still wearing the shirt that, by all rights, should have been tossed in either the laundry or the motel room trash weeks ago, why he had bothered spending half an hour with a gas station sewing kit painstakingly stitching up the torn cuff on the left sleeve after it got caught on a rusty nail. It wasn't even the shirt that he had been wearing all that day, having spent most of the daylight hours stuffed into a suit and tie. Something about the bar across from the library had bitten at him, though  and he hadn't been able to leave the motel room to get a beer until he had changed out of the monkey suit and into that blue flannel.

The bar itself wasn't anything special: polished wood that didn't hide the scuff marks, a dart board and a pool table off to the side, and a flatscreen TV up in the corner over the bar for folks to watch whatever game was on. Three mediocre beers on tap, a handful of brands by the bottle, and a liquor selection pretending to be more high class than it really was. He'd been in a couple hundred bars across the country just like it from before he was legally allowed to order anything harder than a Coke. He clocked and dismissed the handful of local barflies and a smattering of college students that might be easy marks at the pool table later, ordering a beer and settling in to unwind a bit from a hunt that wasn't worth the name.

His thoughts derailed when the bartender set a shot glass of something iced and amber at his elbow next to the beer bottle. Dean's eyebrow went up in question - he knew he hadn't ordered that - and got pointed in the direction of one of the tables of college students. Not sure what to expect, he carefully adjusted his lean against the bar and looked over to the indicated table.

He would have been able to tell which table it was even without the direction. Four widely grinning students, two dudes and two chicks, were arranged on either side of a fifth whose head was face down in folded arms that left Dean with only the view of a mop of brown curls. As Dean looked over, toying idly with the glass, one of the girls elbowed her apparently mortified friend into looking up and--

Dean lifted the shot glass in salute to the achingly familiar eyes that locked onto his. The last ones he had been expecting to see in this bar, and also the ones he had been missing the most. Holding his gaze, Dean took a deliberate sip of the drink, eyebrows going up at the rich, oaky flavor that spilled over his tongue. The kid's friends apparently had good taste to be sending him a shot of good bourbon like this instead of the usual paint thinner.

The incredulity that bloomed across Sam's face at the blatant flirtation was probably deserved, but then again this was really good bourbon. Dean raised an eyebrow and quirked one finger in a clear invitation, sparking a vivid blush across Sam's cheeks that was absolutely worth whatever yelling Dean was going to be enduring at whatever volume Sam decided was appropriate. To the tune of the playful catcalls of his friends, Sam got up, downed his own drink, and managed a credibly steady stride over to where Dean was leaning against the bar.

"What are you doing here?" Sam bit out as he got within low conversation range.

"Really? Just right into it?" Dean tried not to pout, but come on, after he'd gone and done the kid the solid of pretending to be a stranger at the bar he could conceivably be hitting on in front of his college friends? "Not even gonna ask if I come here often, or say my shirt would look better on the floor next to your bed?"

"I already know you don't come here often," Sam huffed with a remarkably expressive eyeroll. He eyed Dean up and down and frowned. "And that's my shirt."

"Got left behind in my bag," Dean said with a shrug that he hoped disguised the way his neck was heating up, pulse thundering in his ears. "You want the chance to steal it back, maybe you should hit on me properly, convince me to take you back to my place like your friends expect. Single room," he added when Sam started to look uncomfortable.

"Dad let you out by yourself?" Sam raised an eyebrow, smirking when Dean scowled.

"Dude, I'm twenty-five!" he protested. Sam folded his arms, and Dean rolled his eyes. "Shut up. Hunt was a bust, anyway, just a regular human sicko."

"Lovely," Sam grimaced. "So you won't be running out in the middle of the night to go dig up a grave?"

"Nope," Dean said, popping the 'p' and raising the shot glass in salute. "You wanna come home with me, I'm all yours for the whole night."

This was the moment, Dean knew. This was the point where Sam could just as easily laugh it off and go back to his friends, maybe with some story about how Dean looked too much like someone he'd gone to high school with, or even looked up close exactly like his older brother if he wanted to go that route. Or, if Dean was very lucky, Sam would be willing to play along and come back with him and maybe...

"So," Sam drawled at length, tilting his body to incline towards Dean as he leaned on the bar. "If I said you had a beautiful body, would you hold it against me?"

Oh, yeah!

"All night long, baby boy," Dean promised and downed the rest of the bourbon in a single gulp.

"Yeah?" Sam licked his lips, trying to look unimpressed as Dean dropped a twenty on the bar. "Gonna tell me not to worry, he's sleeping, for old time's sake?" Which, okay, ouch, point taken. And yet....

"Aw, Sammy," Dean murmured in his ear as he draped an arm around his little brother's shoulders to guide him out of the bar. "If you manage to sleep through this, then I ain't doing it right~!"

=End=

[lboogie1906]

John Lee Hooker (August 22, 1912, or 1917 – June 21, 2001) was a blues singer, songwriter, and guitarist. The son of a sharecropper, he rose to prominence performing an electric guitar-style adaptation of Delta blues. He incorporated other elements, including talking blues and early North Mississippi Hill country blues. He developed his driving-rhythm boogie style, distinct from the piano-derived boogie-woogie. He was ranked 35 in Rolling Stone’s 2015 list of 100 greatest guitarists.

It is believed that he was born in Tutwiler, in Tallahatchie County, although some sources say his birthplace was near Clarksdale, in Coahoma County. He was the youngest of the 11 children of William Hooker, a sharecropper and Baptist preacher, and Minnie Ramsey.

The Hooker children were homeschooled. They were permitted to listen only to religious songs; the spirituals sung in church were their earliest exposure to music. In 1921, their parents separated. The next year, their mother married William Moore, a blues singer, who provided John Lee with an introduction to the guitar (and whom he would credit for his distinctive playing style).

Some of his best-known songs include “Boogie Chillen”, “Crawling King Snake”, “Dimples”, “Boom Boom”, and “One Bourbon, One Scotch, One Beer”. Several of his albums, including The Healer, Mr. Lucky, Chill Out, and Don’t Look Back, were album chart successes in the US and UK. The Healer (for the song “I’m In The Mood”) and Chill Out (for the album) both earned him Grammy wins as well as Don’t Look Back, which went on to earn him a double-Grammy win for Best Traditional Blues Recording and Best Pop Collaboration with Vocals. #africanhistory365 #africanexcellence

[tsdrinks]

Breaking Down Every Alcohol Lyric in Taylor Swift’s Musical Catalogue

It’s known that Swift enjoys a drink from time to time, as she’s referenced various types of alcohol in her songs throughout her career that’s spanned almost two decades. In this article, we’ve tracked down every reference to a specific alcoholic beverage Swift has ever sung, broken down by album.

Editor’s note: In order to curate the list, I listened and read the lyrics to all 231 of Swift’s released songs and features (much to the enjoyment of my lovely wife). Yes, even the 2007 Christmas album. No, it didn’t have any alcohol references. All in all, the listening took a little over 15 hours. 

I entered this project fairly neutral on Swift and came out, well, not quite a Swiftie, but certainly a fan of her more recent eras. Now, let’s get into the list. Are you …Ready For it?

Taylor Swift, Fearless, Speak Now and Red

Swift’s first four albums contained no references to specific alcoholic drinks. This is unsurprising considering the records came out when Swift was between the ages of 16 and 22. Swift wouldn’t make her first alcohol reference until 2014, with the release of…

1989

On “1989,” Swift, who was 24 at the time of the album’s release, references alcohol in only one song.

“Clean”: “You’re still all over me like a wine-stained dress I can’t wear anymore.”

Reputation

“…Ready For It?”: “Island breeze and lights down low. No one has to know.” Island breeze is a fruity vodka cocktail.

“Gorgeous”: “Whiskey on ice; Sunset and Vine. You’ve ruined my life by not being mine.” The first whiskey reference of Swift’s career! A big moment (to us, anyway). 

“Getaway Car”: “I knew it from the first Old Fashioned we were cursed.” Ah, the Old Fashioned: A true classic and probably the most well-known whiskey cocktail. A well-made Old Fashioned truly Hits Different. This is back to back songs on the record referencing whiskey. In her bourbon era? 

“King Of My Heart”: “Up on the roof with a schoolgirl crush, drinking beer out of plastic cups.”

“Dress”: “I’m spilling wine in the bathtub. You kiss my face, and we’re both drunk.” We’re seeing a stark tonal shift on “Reputation” compared to the pop star’s first five albums. More booze, more romance, less wide-eyed country gal. 

“This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things”: “Jump into the pool from the balcony. Everyone swimming in a Champagne sea.”

Lover

“Paper Rings”: “The wine is cold like the shoulder that I gave you in the street.”

“Death By A Thousand Cuts”: “My time, my wine, my spirit, my trust. Tryna find a part of me you didn’t take up.”

“London Boy”: “And you know I love Springsteen, faded blue jeans, Tennessee whiskey.” “London Boy” seems to be about Alwyn and is chock-full of cheesy British references. This line comes toward the beginning of the song, sort of an “I love America, but this British guy…” thing. Springsteen, faded blue jeans and Tennessee whiskey are three things Swift equates with America, or at least Nashville, where she moved at age 14 with her family to focus on her music career. Here, we have it on record: Taylor Swift loves Tennessee whiskey.

“False God”: “Hell is when I fight with you, but we can patch it up good. Make confessions and we’re begging for forgiveness. Got the wine for you.”

“You Need To Calm Down”: “You are somebody that I don’t know. But you’re takin’ shots at me like it’s Patrón, and I’m just like, damn. It’s 7 a.m.” Another line that doesn’t refer to alcohol in a literal sense. In this case, it’s a simile. Patrón is a popular brand of tequila commonly consumed in shot form. 

Folklore

“The 1”: “Rosé flowing with your chosen family. And it would’ve been sweet if it could’ve been me.”

“The Last Great American Dynasty”: “Filled the pool with Champagne and swam with the big names and blew through the money on the boys and the ballet.” This line harkens back to “This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things” with more swimming in Champagne imagery.

“August”: “August sipped away like a bottle of wine, ’cause you were never mine.”

“This Is Me Trying”: “Pouring out my heart to a stranger, but I didn’t pour the whiskey.”

Evermore

“Willow”: “Lost in your current like a priceless wine.” This refers back to the first line of this verse: “I’m like the water when your ship rolled in that night.” It’s another case of Swift using alcohol as a simile; she’s caught up in the current of this person’s presence — trapped in the riptide. And it appears she feels like she’s drowning, as priceless wine being lost in a current evokes shipwrecks like the Titanic. 

“Champagne Problems”: “Champagne problems.”

“Champagne Problems”: “Dom Pérignon you brought it” Dom Pérignon is a brand of Champagne, and Swift sings about Champagne a lot in this song, as you can guess from the title.

“No Body, No Crime”: “Este’s a friend of mine. We meet up every Tuesday night for dinner and a glass of wine.” Este Haim of HAIM, that is. Her and her sisters’ band is featured on this track.

“No Body, No Crime”: “Her husband’s actin’ different, and it smells like infidelity. She says, ‘That ain’t my Merlot on his mouth.'” In this fictional song, Este believes the red on her husband’s lips is not from her merlot — a dark red wine — but presumably from another woman’s lipstick. 

“Ivy”: “So tell me to run or dare to sit and watch what we’ll become. And drink my husband’s wine.” On “Ivy,” Swift tells the story of a married woman who falls in love with someone else and has an affair.

“Closure”: “I’m fine with my spite and my tears and my beers and my candles.” This is the first beer reference we’ve gotten since “Reputation.” Swift may not be much of a beer woman. 

Midnights

“Maroon”: “‘How’d we end up on the floor, anyway?’ You say. Your roommate’s cheap-ass screw-top Rosé, that’s how.” Screw-top wine: Not typically the best. Should’ve Said No to that one, perhaps.

“Maroon”: “The burgundy on my T-shirt when you splashed your wine into me.” Oof, wine spills are the worst. Shake it off, Taylor.

“Mastermind”: “I’m the wind in our free-flowing sails and the liquor in our cocktails.” You can’t sail without wind, and you can’t have a cocktail without liquor (mocktails don’t count).

“Paris”: “Cheap wine, make believe it’s Champagne.”

“Paris”: “‘Cause we were somewhere else in an alleyway, drinking Champagne.” From make-believe Champagne to real Champagne in the same song. That’s a success story. 

Conclusions

All in all, Swift has made 28 specific alcohol references in her work. This isn’t counting references to being or getting drunk or vague, unspecified drink mentions, such as the line “my fourth drink in hand” in “Dear Reader” or “Clink clink” in “Slut!”

Nineteen of the 28 were wine references, so it’s a safe bet that Swift is more of a wine drinker than anything else. However, she’s also sung about whiskey or whiskey cocktails four times, which indicates that perhaps she enjoys a little bourbon or an Old Fashioned from time to time.

Seven of the alcohol lines came on “Evermore,” which is officially Swift’s booziest album. In her drinking era during COVID-19? If there’s one thing we can always count on from this megastar, it’s relatability.

“Evermore” is followed by “Reputation” with six alcohol references, then “Midnights” and “Lover” each with five. “Folklore” is next with four, and finally “1989” with only The 1.

We’ll be sure to update this list with any new alcohol references that appear on “The Tortured Poets Department” or vault tracks on the remaining two “Taylor’s Version” albums.

Until then, Dear Reader. 

Join the Whiskey Raiders Bottle of the Month Club, where you will receive hard-to-find bottles curated by Whiskey Raiders staff with a 90+ rating on whiskeyraiders.com plus live virtual tastings. Sign up here!

This post may contain affiliate links, so we may earn a small commission when you make a purchase through links on our site. This helps support Whiskey Raiders at no additional cost to you.

[themculibrary]

Fics With Titles That Start With D Masterlist 2

part one

darkness will be rewritten (ao3) - princessironspider natasha/tony N/R, 104k

Summary: Peter is Tony’s biological child.

Natasha Romanoff has been married to Tony Stark secretly for years.

What would the movies be like if this were the case?

dear mr. fantasy (ao3) - iron_spider T, 46k

Summary: (ENDGAME SPOILERS. BUT I'M CHANGING THINGS.)

Tony worries his brain is misfiring, transporting him across time and space in one final insane journey. He swallows hard, and he hears those garbled voices again. He can’t make out words, or tone, or who the hell is talking, but somebody definitely is, and it sounds strangely like they’re underwater. Or he is.

He grits his teeth and turns around, and before he can even begin to trudge over towards Peter’s room, he’s stopped in his tracks.

By a door. In the middle. Of the living room. Straight up and down like a monolith, just beside the glass coffee table.

Tony chews on his lower lip and stares at it. “Well that’s new,” he says, still rooted to the spot.

delicate (ao3) - light_loves_the_dark natasha/tony T, 21k

Summary: Natasha was the one to get Tony out of Siberia. Something so small leads to something very big.

Desert Rose (ao3) - Golden_Asp bucky/tony E, 8k

Summary: Deputy Tony Stark has been chasing the nameless thief across the country for two years. He has a collection of hand carved wooden flowers that the man left for him in banks that he robbed. Outside a small Nevada boomtown, he finally catches up to his thief and Tony decides he’s never going back to New York.

Destiny May Keep You Warm (ao3) - MarshmallowNerd bucky/wanda T, 9k

Summary: While helping Steve's team of rogue Avengers, Bucky finds himself stranded on a cold mountainside once again. This time, though, he has his favorite witch with him to keep him warm.

Devotion (ao3) - MarshmallowNerd bucky/wanda T, 11k

Summary: In a world where fate connects soulmates by sending possessions lost by one to be found by the other, Bucky finds his through a personal loss.

Diagnosis Daddy (ao3) - ttfan111robstar1 bruce/natasha M, 7k

Summary: Bruce Banner was having a totally normal day at work- Until his wife brought his son into the ER.

Dimensional Dominoes (ao3) - flawedamythyst clint/bucky, steve/tony T, 81k

Summary: Clint’s shoulders slumped. "Hi, I think I’m from another dimension. Here’s a tip: if the Fantastic Four ever offer you a beer, just say no."

Three different Clints from three different worlds. How hard can it be to get them each back to the right one, whilst also dealing with AIM, Hydra and the Mad Thinker?

Disaster, Stand Behind Me (ao3) - Naferty tony/t'challa G, 3k

Summary: Soulmate AU: Anon said, "I dunno, just more Steve and co. realizing how badly they messed up and trying to repair relations."

Roger's team hurt Tony once, T'Challa, Rhodey and Pepper weren't going to let it happen again.

Dodgy Chinese in LA (ao3) - orphan_account clint/tony T, 7k

Summary: Tony adopts all the things, builds them nests, and acts like a mature adult for once. Ceiling!Clint admires him from afar… or just the vents, which aren't all that far, really.

Dominance (ao3) - Nat_Nav natasha/tony, happy/pepper E, 10k

Summary: Tony took another sip, drinking in not only his bourbon but the very attractive Miss Rushman as well. “What?” He said and Natalie smiled softly, her eyes not leaving him once. Tony felt something in his chest at that smile, a feeling that he’d never felt before. He then started to turn his head between Pepper and Happy, he then gestured to Happy. “Give her a lesson.” He said and left the ring, leaving Happy to give the seemingly tiny woman a lesson in boxing.

Don't Let Your Life Pass You By (ao3) - Memories_of_the_Shadows tony/sam T, 5k

Summary: Moving on is sometimes the hardest thing you have to do. It helps when you have people you know along the way.

Don’t Look Down (ao3) - NamelesslyNightlock loki/tony M, 256k

Summary: When forced to decide between the lives of Tony Stark and Iron Man, Steve Rogers chose wrong.

Tony is left to deal with the consequences, but it’s not like he’s helpless, and he certainly isn’t alone.

do you ever get the sense, you're watching someone else? (ao3) - inmoonlightigetseasick mj/peter T, 9k

Summary: Michelle has a theory. It’s one of her less researched, more mystical-intuitive ones, but a theory nonetheless. It has something to do with putting together the pieces, something to do with observation.

It’s junior year, but her SATs are the least of her worries. She’s the captain of the decathlon team and her star player is always skipping meetings with covers worse than whatever he uses to hide the scrapes and bruises he comes back with.

Dragging You Down (ao3) - AraniaArt, Kamiki steve/bucky E, 81k

Summary: In a divergence from the canon storyline, Hydra experiments with occult legends of a more demonic bent. When Bucky is captured at Azzano, something more insidious than a knock-off super soldier serum is done to him, but the full effects take some time to completely set in. Bucky struggles with building impulses and an increased libido while trying to keep his interest in Steve from boiling over and ruining Steve’s chance at the life he deserves.

Drawing gold from the dark (come inside) (ao3) - viverella clint/natasha T, 21k

Summary: “Hey,” he says. He puts his most winning smile on his face and says cheerfully, “You here to make a bad decision?”

The corner of her mouth curves upwards in a hint of a smile and she says in a soft voice that makes something jolt under Clint’s skin, “I was hoping to, yeah.”

OR: that AU in which Clint runs a tattoo shop that Natasha stumbles into one day and then keeps coming back to, and Clint gets maybe a little too invested and Kate teases him relentlessly.

Drawing Near To Your Heart (fanfiction.net) - NCISVILLE pepper/tony T, 9k

Summary: Pepper just broke up with her boyfriend and needs a plus one pronto for her brother's wedding. When she enlists the help of her boss, Tony Stark, will they draw closer together like he wants?

drowning, please rescue me (ao3) - mabonwitch pepper/tony, clint/tony M, 11k

Summary: Clint is fucked up after Phil dies. Tony has some ideas about how to help.

Dreams Do Come True (ao3) - captasha007 steve/natasha M, 114k

Summary: “Come in!”

Her heart jumped hearing his voice, making her more nervous, so she slowly opens the door and enters the office.

And God almighty, can she just die?

Because there, standing behind a desk, was Steve Rogers aka the asshole who spilled coffee on her blouse earlier. The guy who she yelled and cussed out.

Yep, kill her right now.

During Business Hours: A Filthy Coffee Shop AU (ao3) - samanthahirr steve/bucky E, 25k

Summary: Unemployed artist Steve takes a job managing the worst coffee shop in Brooklyn, where the floors are greasy, the coffee beans have expired, the espresso machine’s been sabotaged, and the owners might be Russian Mafia. But the job comes with a few perks, like a generous paycheck, reasonable hours, and one super-hot customer whom Steve can’t resist having dirty, filthy, bad-idea sex with in the bathroom.

Steve is pretty sure this job is going to kill him. But what a way to go….

[samshinechester]

@thehighfiveproject, thank you for this challenge :D I had a lot of fun finding & commenting fics!

OLD FIC:

The Only Twenty-Four-Hour Bookstore in New York by tsukinobara Jared is the proprietor of The Moose and Mayhem, New York City's only twenty-four-hour bookstore. It takes up most of his brain but he loves it – the employees, the customers, the shelves and shelves of books. Jensen is co-owner of Two Brothers Bar, Red Hook's finest purveyor of bourbon, beer, and country bands. It takes up increasing amounts of his time but he loves it – the bartenders, the customers, even line-dance nights. Jared's weird year begins on No-Pants Day with the unusual presence of people riding the subway in their underwear in January. Jensen's weird year begins with an impulse to cross the river into Manhattan at three in the morning to see if the tall Texan guy he met a week ago is as cute as he remembers. But neither of them is expecting the challenging year that follows, and they'll need the things about New York that keep them sane to help them survive it.

RPS Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles ~38k

This is such a feel-good fic! It languished in my TBR list for a long while, which is a shame because it's a sweet one. Sweet with a dash of angst and a lot of realism, which is the best compliment I could pay to a story. I wish I owned a bookstore too (not even kidding here) ~

<1K HITS/100 KUDOS:

Indiscretion by Heartlesskids You could find everything you want in the South’s brothels, even what you did not know you wanted, and sometimes everything you needed. (au: Robb is a North king a bit at lost in the South, and Theon a skilled courtesan/prostitute who, maybe, used to be a Greyjoy.)

ASOIAF Robb Startk/Theon Greyjoy ~around 1k

Ehhh, I guess I'm cheating? A bit? This story doesn't have any kudos or visible hits, as it's from the kinkmeme. On Lj, things were different, but we had spectacular works nonetheless; you just had to dig to find them. Case in point, this fic. It's a short one, with Robb as King (I like it when Robb is alive and crowned), Theon as a prostitute (because I love my recurring themes), and they make it work while staying IC.

IC and writing style are my conditio sine qua non when it comes to fics, and the author can juggle them both in an effortless way. Bonus Hand!Jon <3 ~

FANDOM CLASSIC:

Full Service Firm by Rivkat Jensen's ego is stinging four weeks after being dumped by his long time boyfriend. He's been turning down guys left and right because, while he wouldn't mind some nice, no-strings-attached sex, he's more than a little scared of any kind of rejection. Enter the hot guy in the expensive suit who's been drinking the bar's best all night. Jensen nearly swallows his tongue when hot guy sidles up and says he'll pay double Jensen's going rate if he agrees to leave right the fuck now. Jensen's more than a little peeved that the guy thinks he's a hooker, but when he names an outrageous price off the top of his head, and the guy agrees without blinking an eye, he feels all his insecurities vanish. At least until a few months later when he realizes he may be in love with his one and only regular.

RPS Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles ~12k + companion piece available

I already left kudos there, damn XD but this fic. This fic, omg. It deserves a full, well-articulate squee in the form of comment. It's funny, it's well-written, it's an AU featuring my favorite fake jobs & tropes for the Js (hooker! Sort of! Lawyer! In love!), it's so beatiful I come there and reread it quite often <3

"How many clients do you have?" Jared asked, an unusual strain in his voice as he leaned back against the headboard.

Jensen suppressed the powerful impulse to say "one," because Jared had made it pretty clear how things stood between them. He thought about work, the client numbers it seemed like he dreamed about. "Four or five," he said, hoping it sounded plausible.

ASFDGFGDFGDF GFG. Besides, paragraph 131. Go read it now. ~

UNDERDOG TROPE:

The Old Gods Return by fleshflutter The envelope is waiting for them behind the desk of the motel when they try to check out. It's made of a thick, coarse brown paper and Sam can't stop touching the flowing script in black ink that's the only marking on it: Mr Samuel Winchester. HP Lovecraft & SPN

SPN Sam Winchester/Dean Winchester ~16k Ah, mpreg. It's not my thing, not really, as it tends to involve 99% sex and 1% vagueplot. Here, though? It's all plot! Well, they do fuck and Dean gets knocked up, but there is a reason behind it - a solid, terrifying and 100% IC reason. Casefic with a side of believable mpreg :D the writing style is, of course, superb, and the eerie atmosphere feels real. I adore this fic.

I just found out it has a sequel! So, if you'll excuse me...

~

RARE PAIRING:

Lead the Way from All Is Lost by Somehowunbroken 'Cam isn’t sure what he’s expecting to see when he walks into the General’s office, but he knows for damn sure that it’s not a man, dressed in base uniform, slouching in a chair with his arms crossed behind his head, staring unconcernedly at the ceiling while General Landry does his best to glare a hole straight through him.'

SGA/SG-1 Cameron Mitchell/John Sheppard ~25k

I keep going back to this fic. Every once in a while, since 2010 (it was still on Lj back then? I can't remember), I just have to get back and read it all over again. The author handles the recovery aspect in a realistic way, and their Cameron sounds so real. He's caring, he's compassionate, he's firm yet respectful of John's boundaries. The scene with the general is satisfying under every aspect - I'm always happy to see justice being served.

~

FREE SQUARE:

Why Ned Would Have Executed Theon by Redrikki Would Ned have killed Theon if Balon had rebelled before Ned’s death? It’s a tricky question. You can’t prove a counterfactual and the narrative offers clues that could go either way. Ultimately though, the answer is yes.

ASOIAF Gen, meta ~1k

Self-explanatory title, interesting meta. I read and appreciated many fanfictions where Theon doesn't lose his head despite Balon rebellling again. They satisfy my little Theonstan heart a lot. Like, I'm writing one myself as we speak.

In all seriousness, tho, they're implausible.

Ned would have killed him. Robert would have killed him (in 0.5 or less). Robb, as much as it pains me to admit it, would have killed him.

It's a matter of culture, which is medieval and brutal, and context. Even today, modern States et al, the 'no dealing with [insert random threat here]' is Public Show of Force 101; in a medieval setting, fake or otherwise, a show of weakness would have disastrous consequences. You don't keep your word and save the hostage = you're a weak King and we'll raid your land in 1-2-3. Would they have regretted it? Robb, yes. Ned and Robert, ahem. And Balon, who has been giving minus zero fucks about Theon since his failed first attempt, wouldn't have regretted it either. Acceptable loss is the technical term.

From an impartial point of view, that's it. What saddens me is that the enormity of it - can you imagine living with such a Damocle's sword hanging on your head? Theon's levels of anxiety must have been through the roof for years, spiking even higher every time a raven showed up - doesn't really transpire in the books. ~

AO3 WARNING:

Cupid's Got a Gun by geckoholic Fuck-or-die, set in early S4. But they've been fucking for years, so that shouldn't be a problem, right? Wrong. Ever since hell, Dean's in no hurry to get that show on the road again. They've tried, and it doesn't work, too many bad memories from what's been done to him downstairs. A case that involves a cursed cross and a vengeful witch takes that choice away from them, though...

SPN Sam Winchester/Dean Winchster ~13k

I struggled with this one, because I don't pay attention to warnings, so recalling a fic with one of the big three or chose not to has been kind of a bitch. I only check if the summary sounds interesting and the style is good. If both check out, I'm in. That said, if you like a trope-subversion fic mixed with post-hell Dean and established relationship, look no further. The casefic part is believable, and the curse is horrific, even more so because of the flashbacks. ~

NEW FIC:

The Perfect Bride by Anagrrl The guy ducks his head, rubs his jaw briefly. "Sorry, of course, right. Trust but verify, right? It's Rodney. Rodney McKay, it's great to meet you."

Rodney's a genius, but sometimes, he's also kind of dumb.

SGA Rodney McKay/John Sheppard ~4k

Pretty new fic (October was, like, yesterday) and entertaining AF. I have a soft spot for arranged marriages, but the modern spin *and* the John-left-at-the-altar/misunderstanding twist are... I don't know, how did Anagrrl make a perfect idea even more perfect?

It's funny and lovely, they're a delight to read, and I enjoyed it from the very first word. ~

<1K WORDS:

Last Train Home by Sparkagrace “‘s me. Your pal, your buddy,” he hiccups, “your Buuuuuucky.” He drawls his name out, the word feeling like cotton in his mouth. “I can’t feel my teeth.”

- Bucky takes the last train home to Steve

MCU Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes ~995

This is so good! I love how Sparkagrace used a line that screams angst, pain, and sufferance, and turned it into something sweet. Drunk!Bucky is so cute it's ridiculous, I went all 'awwww' over him and Steve. ~

NEW AUTHOR:

Eldritcher with Carnarium His dreaming brides of death.

ASOIAF/House of the Dragon Balerion ~3k

I'm cheating a little because I left a comment on Carnarium right before this challenge started, but I left another one today! It's a magnificent fic. Poor Balerion, poor Aerea, poor... everyone, really. I feel for them all 💔

Also, Eldritcher's writing style! No praise can do it justice. Wow.  It's-atmospheric, evocative, and it's a style I appreciate a lot. It offers a diversion from 'regular' writing (apologies, uncorrect term here), and while I love a story that focuses more on actions than on spirit, the latter has a certain je ne sais quoi.

So good. ~

>10K WORDS:

The Price by Theroguesgambit Stiles must surrender the most important thing in his life to protect the town… and no one can figure out what it was.

Teen Wolf Stiles Stilinski/Derek Hale ~18k

This is one of my newest pairings (I really branched out during 2022, what can I say), and I still have that kid in a candy shop bursting feeling, no? To me, old fandoms are like expensive wine tasting, when I get to pick and choose as I already know my way around; with TW I don't, not yet, so every author I discover is a supernova in the feels.

Case in point.

The author took me on an exquisite pain journey. It was delightful just as much as it was gut-wrenching, and the end left me even more satisfied because of it. I legit stopped reading around chapter 4 and told my kid that The Price was scooping my heart outta my chest (paraphrasing). I can't recommend it enough. ~

UNDERDOG PAIRING:

Rising from a long night as dark as the grave by Janie_tangerine In which Stannis holds Storm's End for a year. GOT Stannis Baratheon/Davos Seaworth ~9k I don't really read Stavos (probably I'm looking in the wrong places?), but I gave this fic a try because I knew the author and their Throbb fics are e x c e l l e n t. Rising is excellent as well: I adored the characterization of them both, and the one I loved best is the one I care very little about in canon. Janie's Stannis is real and raw and visceral, and I found myself going 'ohnonono' with every hole in his belt. Marvelous, marvelous job. ~

OUTSIDE FANDOM:

Chicago's Most Wanted by Speranza "Of course he got the money--he's Fraser, he's organized, he's a fucking criminal mastermind, what do you think?!"

Due South Benton Fraser/Ray Kowalski ~42k

I'll read anything as long as it's well-written, and that's a blessing (most of the time) and a curse (right now). A blessing because I'll never run out of fics to read; a curse because I don't really have outside fandoms?

I've been hearing about DS since its inception, but I never tried it out, back in the day. ~

1ST/2ND POV:

I Would Cradle You Tight in My Arms, Always by Oxoniensis You promised yourself, you'd always keep Sammy safe.

SPN Dean Winchester/Sam Winchester ~1.5k

I struggled a lot here, because first or second povs are so not my thing. It takes a lot of talent to handle these povs, and there's always the real risk of getting repetitive af - the 'I-I-I or You-you-you' syndrome, you know?

I read enough stories of Oxoniensis, though, to know that they're able to handle a difficult pov in a marvelous way. It reads effortless. Natural. I mean, wow. The story itself is achingly beautiful, and Dean, oh, Dean <3 ~

UNDERRATED FAVE:

Take What You Want by bertee Jensen and Jared are happily married. Jensen is an ex-prostitute who satisfied the rich and famous, Jared is the rich businessman who fell in love with him and OMC is the asshole who recognises Jensen on one of Jared's business meetings/poker evenings/whatever and who thinks that Jensen is still on the market.

RPS Jared Padalecki/Jensen Ackles ~3k

This fic is so underrated it's criminal. Yes, it was on Lj during the good ol' fandom heydays; yes, it's by a wonderful author who has many other fics recced to everyone and their mother (and rightly so! They're awesome!); no, it's not on reclists. Why.

(I hoard reclists like a dragon hoards gold, I should know. C r i m i n a l.)

3k words and each of them is a punch in the gut. There's a despicable outsider pov, there's justice being served, there's a victim who serves that justice himself. I've read it more than once, and every time I find a new detail to focus on this time is Ben's life crumpling around him. Amazing.

Great, great story. ~

EPIC >100K FAVE:

The Stars Incline Us, They Don't Bind Us by Pangea, Ikeracity Intergalactic Federation pilot Lieutenant Charles Xavier is assigned last-minute to a high profile mission: transporting over two thousand prison inmates from an old and overfilled prison complex to a newer, higher-capacity prison stronghold located on the outer reaches of the galaxy. Just as he's settling down for a long and uneventful ride, things take a turn for the worse after the inmates riot and stage a hostile takeover of the ship, leaving Charles to find himself at the complete mercy of cold-blooded killers and facing the chilling prospect that he might not ever make it back home alive.

X-Men Charles Xavier/Erik Lehnsherr ~162k

My first foray in the X-Men fandom and it steamrolled all over me. In a good way. One my favorite tropes is justice being served, and in here it is served to a great degree. Plus, AU, space, enemies to lovers, bamf!characters who save themselves, and a realistic ending? Sign me up.

My first foray in the X-Men fandom and it steamrolled all over me. In a good way. One my favorite tropes is justice being served, and in here it is served to a great degree. Plus, AU, space, enemies to lovers, bamf!characters who save themselves, and a realistic ending? Sign me up.